Lust for Life
by nightflutterheart
Summary: When Sasha Buckley's car breaks down outside of Bon Temps, she is unaware that her chance encounter with Eric Northman will set off an epic chain of events. She just wants to keep running, and he just wants to know how an unclaimed human knows so much about vampires. Sasha's got secrets, Eric's got questions, & they're all in trouble. ERIC/OC POSTS3,PRE S4. FINISHED! SEQUEL UP.
1. Chapter 1

_Look out of any window_

 _any morning, any evening, any day!_

 _Maybe the sun is shining,_

 _birds are winging_

 _or rain is falling from a heavy sky._

 _What do you want me to do,_

 _to do for you, to see you through?_

 _For this is all a dream we dreamed_

 _one afternoon long ago._

 _What out of any doorway,_

 _Feel your way, feel your way_

 _Like the day before_

 _Maybe you'll find direction_

 _Around some corner_

 _Where it's been waiting to meet you,_

 _What do you want me to do,_

 _To watch for you while you're sleeping?_

 _Well please don't be surprised_

 _When you find me dreaming too._

 _—_ Box of Rain, Grateful Dead

"… _find me dreaming too_!" Sasha Buckley belted out the last line of Box of Rain as the city of Shreveport, Louisiana faded in the dust of her cherry red '69 Chevy Camaro. Wind whipped over the convertible as the perfect natural air conditioning, cutting through the heavy summer air and tossing her long mane of curls over her shoulders. As she began humming the bars of the next song on her mix tape, Sasha's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, checking as they had periodically for any suspicious cars. There were none. Satisfied, her eyes flicked back to the open stretch of road ahead of her, then back to the mirror. This time she focused on her appearance.

For someone that had been driving for some thirty odd hours or so, she didn't look half as bad as she felt. Not even a full two days out of Los Angeles and her café au lait skin had tanned, the honeyed tone darker than it had been in the past few years she'd spent mostly out of the sun. Where her skin had darkened her hair had lightened, and as Sasha fluffed her ringlets, she found she wasn't at all mad. The new honeyed, blonde tones in her hair would have cost her a fortune at a salon. It was merely irony that she was getting more sun away from LA, and now her body was eagerly soaking it all in.

The radio's sound became garbled, and she switched it to radio, fiddling with the dial for a moment until she found a clear station.

 _"…back now with Senator Andrews. Senator, you're known to be a moderate—more moderate than our state's past senators, at least. Still, you've always been known to speak out on issues you feel strongly about. While you openly condemned the domestic vampire terrorist Russell Edgington just days ago after his attack, you haven't been quite so clear on your views on the VA. Will you support this new amendment? And after so many of your constituents beg otherwise?"_

Sasha's hand hovered on the dial for a split second. Then the familiar voice of Senator Christopher Andrews came streaming out of the radio, complete with that Louisiana drawl that had charmed so much of the nation. Sasha scoffed.

 _"That's an excellent question, Cindy. And I know this is one many viewers at home are also asking. The thing is, it's easy to condemn a terrorist. Because that's what Russell Edgington is. But I think it's dangerous to condemn an entire group of people based on the actions of a deranged man—vampire. Now, vampire representative Nan Flanagan called me personally to assure me that her camp is just as appalled as we are—and furious. They too fully condemn Edgington's actions. They aren't going to stop until he is captured and persecuted to the fullest extent of the law. I think that, in the wake of this tragedy, this will be an opportunity for the vampires to prove that they intend to follow through with what they've been pledging for the last two and some years. From my understanding, Edgington is an old and important figure for them; if they are willing to bring him to justice, I think it will speak volumes about their intentions. It would certainly be favorable to me, Cindy."_

" _Thank you for your words, Senator. We have Sandy Atwell from New Orleans on the line now—"_

Scoffing once more, Sasha flicked the radio dial again. The Good Senator, The People's Senator, as he'd recently been nicknamed, came across to many as moderate, even progressive for a republican senator of a red state, but Sasha saw right through him. He liked his position, and whether or not he believed in what he said, he'd play all sides for as long as it benefitted him. He wouldn't outright condemn vampires because there was no business in that, just as there was no business in outwardly approving of them. He was, in the end, what most politicians were.

A coward.

His celebrity had recently shot up as the nation's spotlight had turned onto Louisiana after the vampire Russell Edgington had violently murdered a news anchor on television. There was still a warrant out for his arrest, but Sasha knew that vampires had probably already apprehended him. Humans wanted justice, but she could imagine that the AVL was doing everything it could to stop Edgington from further impeding their cause. It was impossible to watch the news these past few days without AVL rep Nan Flanagan's face on it.

She wasn't sure what the situation was in any case, only knew that it was definitely more than it appeared. Most humans didn't know that that he wasn't just any vampires; he was the Vampire King of Mississippi. She knew his reputation, and she also knew that a vampire nearly three thousand years old didn't suddenly just lose it. Between the vampires and her own personal dislike for the state, Sasha had been perfectly content to drive around it. Multiple detours had forced her to drive through its Northern portion anyway.

Sasha adjusted the reflective aviators before they slipped too far down the bridge of her nose, then reached down the bench for her bag, hand searching for a moment before she came up with her prize. She fiddled with the pack of Native American Spirits in her lap, finally wrestling a cigarette free and popping it into her mouth.

She continued to sing around the cigarette as her hand jammed into the front pocket of her daisy dukes for her lighter. That was when Camaro decided to give an undignified cough.

The lighter forgotten, Sasha frowned down at the muscle car as it gave one last wheezing gasp and then died out on her.

"Fucking _how_?" she murmured to herself. The car, unfortunately, had no answer for her.

Mumbling obscenities to herself, Sasha wrangled her wild mass of curls into a knot on top of her head. Already, now that she wasn't moving, the Louisiana heat and humidity was getting to her, reminding her of a decade ago when she'd sworn to never again step foot in the damned state. There was a lot about it that she didn't like, and the infernal summers weren't even the half of it. Beads of sweat began collecting on her skin like dew on grass, and it was with a great sigh that she stepped out of the Camaro.

Sasha spent a good fifteen minutes staring under the hood of the Camaro. She didn't touch anything, because Sasha couldn't even put a chain back on a bicycle if it came loose without fucking some other part of it up, but she didn't have to be an expert to know that there was absolutely nothing wrong with the Camaro. Eoin, whom she'd… _borrowed_ the cherry-chromed beauty from, was something of an expert unlike her. He kept his cars in tip-top shape, and she'd never heard of any of his vehicles ever needing anything beyond typical maintenance or upgrades for parts that became updated. There was simply no way that the car would just give up on her like this. No way.

Still, it was easy to believe that she didn't really know what she was talking about, and just because there was still a tank full of gas and nothing _obvious_ looked broken, that something might be wrong with her ride after all.

"The hell do you know anyway?" she muttered to herself, heading back to the car. She reached for water she'd picked up when she'd stopped for gas some forty miles back, nose crinkling as it hit her tongue lukewarm. She'd just have to call for someone to come tow it.

Grabbing her bag, Sasha searched for her phone. But when she flipped the thing open, it was dead. Her car charger was mysteriously absent.

Sasha stared at her phone for a long moment, then back to the car. Certainly a coincidence, that her car had broken down and that her phone was inexplicably kaput. She reminded herself that she was on I-20, that it had to be pretty heavily trafficked, and that she'd only have to wait to flag down a car and ask to borrow a phone.

The late afternoon sun made the wait hell. It beat down hot and hard on her, and even when she found shade by pulling up the Camaro's roof, Sasha found that she burned up by sitting in the car. The little water she had left was too hot to be refreshing, and the heat didn't make her snacks appetizing. Out of the Camaro wasn't any better; the sweltering heat rose up from the asphalt, slowly roasting her.

Some two hours came and went, and not a single car drove past Sasha. Her suspicions swelled to the forefront of her mind once again; how was I-20 so barren during the day? Though she'd tried the engine a few times, the Camaro hadn't given any signs of resuscitation, and after ripping through it three times in search for her phone charger, it never turned up. She was however able to dig a map out of the glove box, huddling behind the Camaro for shade as she studied it for a moment.

The nearest town on foot appeared to be a town called Bon Temps. It was barely a speck on the map, but if it didn't have a mechanic, it would at the very least have a phone for her to use. Sasha weighed her options for a moment; nearly three hours now, and not a single car had come by yet. Bon Temps looked to be in the neighborhood of ten miles out; Shreveport at least twenty, maybe more.

Bon Temps it was.

It might have pained her more to leave the Camaro behind if it was actually hers and if it hadn't just inexplicable died out on her. If anything did happen to it, then she figured that Eoin deserved it and they'd call it even. As it was, Sasha was more than fine shoving her few belongings into the trunk and slinging her messenger bag over a shoulder, the last of the water jammed into it along with a melted energy bar. She checked the watch at her wrist.

It had stopped ticking.

A trickle of unease shot threw her, and she stripped her wrist bare of the watch, leaving only the pile of small bracelets she had there. She hid the watch in the glove compartment, and then squinted her eyes up at the sun. By the sun's position just over her shoulders, she was willing to guess she had another four or five hours of sunlight. That had to be more than plenty to get herself to Bon Temps without the troubles that came with the night; that was if she even made it to Bon Temps. She was holding out on the hope she'd come across a payphone or car long before the end of the ten-mile trek.

She was fit; she wasn't so sure she was _that_ fit.

"And we march," she muttered to herself, hoisting her messenger bag onto her shoulders.

Sasha's Doc Martens were well worn enough that they were comfortable around her feet, but they weren't exactly ideal for the weather. She was wondering if she'd even be able to remove them from her swollen feet when she came across a sign bearing the name of the small town that was her destination. She was somewhat miffed to find she still had a few miles to go, but that didn't compare to how she felt when she saw the sign right above it.

" _Linden Road?!"_ she exclaimed. She dug the map out of the back pocket of her shorts where she'd stuffed it, prying it open to try to figure out how she could have possible ended up here. She'd been on I-20, and she was supposed to walk it until it branched off into a small road that would take her to Bon Temps.

Finding Linden Road on the map, she was shocked to find that it was a small line running about a mile apart and parallel to I-20. While the good news was that it was closer to Bon Temps, it was also a small, inconsequential road.

"No wonder you didn't find a goddam soul on it, Buckley," she admonished herself, raking through her memory for when she'd gotten off I-20. But the more she thought of it, the more she was certain she'd never veered off course. She was pretty good with directions, anyhow. She didn't ever just _get lost_.

Of course, the only other explanation was—

"Nope," said Sasha, shaking her head against the possibility, folding her map back up. "You got lost. First time for everything, Ace,"

And so she walked, even when she realized that she'd misjudged the sun, which was sinking at a faster rate than she'd realized in the West.

Sasha came to a stop on the side of Linden Road, turning to watch the night overcome the last few rays of the dying sun. Nighttime.

Despite the sun having sunk into the horizon and there not being a single lamppost on Linden Road, Sasha felt like she'd been thrust under a spotlight. Linden Road wandered into the Louisiana swamp-like territory, with trees and foliage on either side of the road creating the types of shadows and shapes that had frightened her as a child, that she still had the good sense now to question.

"I'm not that child anymore," Sasha whispered to herself. "I have lived with darkness. I do not fear darkness,"

As she resumed her pace, a small voice in the back of her head reminded her that while that may have been true, Sasha had never stopped fearing the things that slithered and stalked in the dark.

* * *

Another hour passed and Sasha was starting to think she'd stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone where the rest of the world did not exist, only the dark and eerie stretch of Linden Road.

Just as she began to wonder for the thousandth time what had possessed her to walk ten miles in the middle of nowhere _toward_ night, Sasha finally came across a man. Her shoulders picked up.

"Hey—Hi! You! Hey over there!"

Relief flooded through her as she jogged the rest of the way to the man walking down the road.

"Hey there, I'm sorry but do—oh fuck!"

Sasha screamed in surprise, tripping over her own boots and landing hard on her ass. She scrambled backwards and away from the man—man?—loose rocks of asphalt biting into the palms of her hands and the back of her thighs.

The man she'd come across was missing half his face.

"You can see me?" he asked. "You see me?"

"This is _not_ happening _not_ happening _this is so not fucking happening!_ " she chanted to herself, jamming her eyes shut. But when Sasha opened them again, the man was striding towards her.

"Fucking _hell_!"

"Is that what this is? That where I am? Hell?" the man asked, falling to his knees. His bloody, gory hands fell to her shoulders, gripping her so tightly she cried out in pain.

"Let go," she told him, stomach flipping at the scent of decay and gore that rolled off him. "Let go _now_ before— _shit,_ "

A flood of memories not her own assaulted Sasha. They were all disjointed, abstract pieces of faces and feelings she could barely make out, all jumbled. Two young children—boy blond, girl ginger. Hatred. Fury. Love. Blood. Hair—Red—Soft—Long. Fury. Despair. Pain. The memories began to sharpen, coming at a slower pace—a blonde woman. Tombstones—cemetery. Pain, so much pain. A gun. Rage. Lust. Hatred. Pain—shovel. The blonde woman again—

Sasha screamed as she felt pinpricks of ice scatter from where the spirit touched her, traveling through her body.

"Get off!" she shouted, throwing the man off of her. He skittered a few feet in front of her, landing on his back. He sneered at her, rising in an instant to his feet and—

"Holy shit!" Sasha screamed and threw her hands up as a car drove straight through the spirit, careening straight towards her. It screeched around her, narrowing missing her, coming to a dangerous halting curve somewhere behind her. Breathing hard from the _two_ near-death experiences, blood pumping so hard she could hear nothing else, Sasha slowly lowered her hands to the ground. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes squinting through the darkness for the spirit. She couldn't see it.

But she did taste blood. Reaching a hand to her lip, she traced a fresh rivulet of blood from her nose. A headache was pressing against her temples, and she realized belatedly that the spirit hadn't only been more aggressive than most, but that this fatigue was due to it trying to possess her.

"Dead motherfucker," she cursed, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. A car door slammed, reminding her of the much more ordinary near-death she'd just evaded.

"Funny, I was about to say the same thing,"

It was a man's voice, tone clipped in a way that suggested that 'funny' was the last thing he found the situation.

"What, because you were driving over a hundred in a fifty zone like a psycho? It's a wonder you didn't kill me," retorted Sasha. Bile was rising in her throat, and she fought to keep it down. It had been a while since she'd encountered a spirit strong enough to invade her body.

"Because laying in the middle of the road isn't a psycho move?"

Sasha didn't appreciate the prissy tone, nor that it was significantly closer than it had just been. She hadn't even heard the stranger approach. When she looked up, she realized immediately why.

" _Undead_ motherfucker," she muttered absently to herself. He was a vampire.

The giant—even if Sasha had been standing, and even if her total height was somewhere taller than in the ballpark of five foot five, she would have called him a giant—quirked an eyebrow down at her. In the fluid grace that marked his kind apart from the rest, he was crouched down, peering at her inquisitively.

Sasha knew a lot of vampires, enough to know that the notion amongst the average human that vampirism turned one into an exceptionally beautiful, sexy creature of the night was a misconception. The whole dying and reviving process might have smoothed out some scars, made hair shinier, skin acne free, but it wasn't exactly a beautifying agent. The otherworldly quality of vampires—the fact that they did not breathe, that they did not need to blink or stumble or make much noise when they moved was the part of the deadly allure that many humans confused as beauty.

That being said, the vampire before her had to have been uncommonly attractive as a human, because he was currently a goddam sin. His eyes were glacial in color and frigid intensity; skin the familiar pale marble of vampires. His hair was fair, nearly glowing in the moonlight and contrasting to his dark ensemble of black on black. He was pure sex.

" _Wow_ ," muttered Sasha, blinking through her daze. The combination of near-possession and super hot, strange vampire was not good for her queasiness.

"Hmm," hummed the vampire, quirking his head to the side as he studied her with unnerving intensity. "Once again I was thinking much the same,"

Sasha had enough presence of mind to know that whatever 'wow' he was thinking wasn't quite as flattering as hers.

 _Get your head together before you lose it, girl_ , Sasha told herself. She was in the middle of the road in the middle of nowhere with a vampire she wasn't sure was friendly. _Think_.

 _Well, he stopped when he could have A) hit you or B) kept driving. Then again C) He might think you're a convenient snack. Although he is quite the snack himself…_

 _But_ , said another wiser voice in the back of your head. _You are bleeding, and he seems to be containing himself pretty well. He's breathing through it and everything—chances are good that he's not some wild newborn, right?_

"Are you suffering from brain damage?" asked the vampire, the lines of his face revealing his impatience to her. "Although if you are I'm assuming it's a preexisting condition, as I didn't actually hit you with my car. I'm not even sure how you're bleeding. Do you sit in the middle of the road hoping to scam poor bastards out of their insurance?"

"I'm trying to gauge the odds you're a newborn with uncontrollable urges or a sadistic jackass," muttered Sasha, wincing in pain as she moved. She needed to get up.

"Oh?" asked the vampire, eyebrow quirking once again. "And which are you settling on?"

"I haven't ruled out the second one yet, but you don't feel like you were reborn yesterday," said Sasha. She forced herself up to her feet, wincing at her stiff muscles. That spirit had gotten a little further into her than she would have liked.

"I am _so_ glad you're not inside of me," she murmured, eyes once again scanning the road for any sign of the spirit. It had been one of the strongest she'd come across in a while, and she didn't suspect it would stay hidden permanently. She wasn't all too eager to find out, in any case.

"I didn't realize that somewhere in between nearly flattening you with my car and your babbling I'd propositioned you," said the vampire dryly. Sasha glanced at him—up at him. Now that he too had risen from the ground, she saw that he did indeed tower over her. He was glancing at her with a hint of amusement now, eyes sweeping over her. They paused on her mouth.

"What? Oh, wasn't talking to you," said Sasha distractedly. She walked over to where she'd dropped her bag, rifling through it for a napkin or tissue, distinctly aware of the blood that had trickled down her nose to her mouth.

"Here,"

Sasha eyed the silk handkerchief he'd pulled out of his pocket—it looked far too nice to be used to mop up her bloody nose, but more importantly, she wouldn't be giving it back once her blood was on it.

"Take it. I'm not particularly attached," drawled the vampire. Sasha thanked him, wearily taking the silk square and pressing it under her nose. She stared at him unabashedly as she did, trying to figure out just who she was dealing with.

Also, he was very easy on the eyes. There was just so much to look at; his long, sinewy limbs, his incredible bone structure.

The vampire didn't appear to mind her scrutiny, perhaps because he was so busy with his own. His appreciative eyes weren't shy about the skin that showed beneath her high-waisted shorts, tracing the curves of her thighs, up to the dips of her collarbones above the neckline of her t-shirt. His gaze and it's obvious interest had a way of making her feel like she was standing in front of him in her best lingerie and not in the middle of a highway with a handkerchief pressed to her nose. It wasn't entirely unpleasant. He looked like he wanted to devour her in the worst kind of way.

Sasha blinked away the thought. She'd never been the type to devolve into a sex-crazed creature at the first sign of an attractive man, no matter how attractive. Just the opposite; she'd always prided herself in her ability to not only remain cool and level-headed and unaffected around men, but in having the upper hand in her interactions with the male sex.

"My first guess was junky," said the vampire after a few moments. "But you don't look or smell like one,"

Of course he hadn't been oblivious to her blood and the way it smelled. Now that she looked for it, she saw it in the way he spoke; she noticed a slight inflection of an accent—experience told her Scandinavian—and she noticed the way his tongue darted out unnecessarily. He tasted her blood in the air.

He probably liked it, too.

"You wouldn't happen to be going to Bon Temps, would you?" asked Sasha. "If not, can you tell me how much further down it is?"

The vampire glanced over her shoulder for a moment. "You look…sweet," said the vampire. Sasha's eyes narrowed at the suggestive double entendre there. "I wouldn't recommend that town for you,"

"I'm not particularly attached," drawled Sasha. "But as my car broke down some ten or so miles up the road, I don't have much of a choice, sweet or otherwise,"

The vampire stared at her for a long moment.

"What were you doing in the middle of the road?" asked the vampire.

"Like I said, my car broke down up the road. I stumbled over uneven ground. You might have forgotten that humans don't see quite as well as you do in the dark,"

His eyebrow quirked at her sauciness.

"I'll take you into town, if you'd like," he finally said. "If you can't get a mechanic out, you can at least get a motel,"

Sasha considered him for a moment. "And you'd do that…no strings attached? Bloody or of the underwear variety?"

"I'm insulted you'd doubt the sincerity of my good deed," said the vampire. "You're the hitchhiker in deviously tiny shorts. I think I'm the one who should be worried,"

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. He had a way of turning words that had the potential of coming out flirtatious as incredibly condescending. He was also her only ride, it seemed.

"My short shorts and I would be incredibly appreciative of your sincerely good deed," said Sasha, voice dripping with enough dryness to rival his. She thought she detected a hint of a smirk at his mouth—whether at her sardonic reply or that she'd just fallen into some kind of trap, she wasn't quite sure—but he quickly turned, making a sweeping gesture to his car.

"Your chariot awaits," he told her, tone flat so as not to be bested. This time it was her turn to fight a smile. She was somewhat reminded of Eoin, and she missed her banter with the charming Irishman and his mile-wide asshole streak.

Thinking of the Irishman made her think about how much trouble she'd be in once he found out she'd somehow fucked with his prized car.

As she approached the car, Sasha was able to see more than the glare of its headlights. The vampire drove a stunning Porsche, and she glared for a moment at the gleaming black chrome, knowing that had he not been a vampire, the likelihood of a human driver avoiding flattening her with it would have been low.

Okay, so yes she'd been in the middle of the road. But she was _not_ about to take the blame when she'd nearly been taken for a joyride by a seriously fucked up ghost.

"Problem?" asked the vampire, standing by the open driver's side.

"Just thinking how _not_ cute I would have looked splattered across the front of your car," said Sasha.

"Definitely would have been a bitch to clean," he told her, disappearing into the car. She scowled, then followed into the car, dropping her bag in between her legs. The car had leather seats—red—and all the luxury add-ons she could think off.

"I'm Sasha, by the way," she told him.

"Eric," he said after a cursory glance at her.

"So tell me, Eric," said Sasha. "What's wrong with it? Bon Temps, I mean,"

He took his time answering, pretending to focus on the U-turn back to the small town he'd just come speeding from. Sasha called bullshit; she was certain he could execute the maneuver blindfolded in traffic. He was thinking of something to say, or how to lie. Interesting.

"Bon Temps is a small Louisiana town," he finally told her. "Unless you find low literacy and inbreeding charming, I doubt it's for you,"

Again, Sasha called bullshit. She didn't think it was a coincidence that the strangeness with her car and her phone had happened outside of the same town he'd warned her off. There was something off about it, something off that was of note to a vampire. But he clearly didn't care enough to make a case for her not to go into town, and she wasn't particularly scared off.

Yet. The spirit had almost done the trick.

"And?" she asked, turning her eyes to the window, watching as the scenery sped by into a blur of dark and darker. Sasha didn't trust humans at this speed—she didn't trust herself behind the wheel like this—but driving around country roads with a vampire behind the wheel had been a vice of hers for a very long time. She could feel her excitement bubbling up at the exhilaration of flying through the dark like this, though she tried to dampen it, knowing it would only sweeten her scent to him.

"And?" repeated Eric. Sasha's eyes flicked to him.

"And vampires don't warn _sweet_ girls like me off of towns for low literacy rates and inbreeding,"

"Know many vampires, do you?" he asked her skeptically.

"Some," she murmured thoughtfully, twirling a curl around her index finger so tight it hurt. The same vampires that were so going to kill her if they got their hands on her after all of this.

"Is that why you felt comfortable enough stepping into my car?" asked Eric. "Or are you another fangbanger?"

"You get a lot of fangbangers in these parts?" Sasha asked him dubiously, ignoring his insult. She hadn't been in the deep south in over a decade, but she still carried the scars of the emotional—and, on more than one occasion, physical—abuse that had assailed her simply because her father had been white and her mother black. She was skeptical that if Louisiana hicks couldn't accept humans of different skin color, they'd welcome vampires with open arms.

As though reading her mind, Eric smirked. "You'd be surprised."

* * *

Eric's Porsche came to a crawling stop in front of an unlikely place. A diner. Sasha peered through the window at the sprawling construction, drinking in the neon green and red sign that proclaimed the establishment to be _Merlotte's Bar & Grill. _

"And you're buying me dinner? You shouldn't," said Sasha, glancing his way. The corner of the vampire's mouth lifted into the ghost of a smile.

"Which is why I'm not," he told her. "But I know you humans need to eat, and quite frankly I don't know this town well enough to bring you to a motel, much less do I have the desire to wander it aimlessly to find one. The owner of this… _fine establishment_ will help you,"

Sasha bit her lip as she nodded thoughtfully, a hundred questions springing up to the forefront of her mind. What did a vampire with a fancy Porsche have to do with the owner of a diner in the middle of nowhere? Were they friends? Business partners?

"Can I offer you a Tru B?" asked Sasha, her hand coming to rest on the door handle. She had, after all, been raised with manners.

"The humans will be far more helpful to you if you're not seen with me," he told her.

Now that just wasn't fair. Even more questions were bubbling up onto the tip of her tongue, the handsome mysterious vampire intriguing her more with every second she spent in his presence. At the realization, she wrinkled her nose, slumping back against the polished leather interior. There it was again, the lure of vampires. Shaking her head free of an onslaught of self-analysis that would make even a therapist quake in their boots, she flashed Eric a final bright smile.

"So don't mention that you sent me?"

"Best not to," agreed Eric, meeting her gaze.

For a long moment, they stared into each other's eyes. Sasha felt a strange rush explode inside of her, like rivulets of hot and cold water running beneath the surface of her skin. Electricity danced beneath her fingertips, igniting something that had lain dormant inside of her for years.

Sasha blinked, breaking the spell that had fallen over them, clenching and unclenching her hands. How strange. From her peripheral, she saw Eric frown down at his steering wheel, equally puzzled.

"Thanks for the ride," said Sasha, forcing the words passed the sudden dryness in her mouth. She was out of the car before he could answer—if he'd even meant to—and striding for the entrance to the diner. Behind her she heard the engine of the Porsche rev, and then the vampire was gone.

A small part of her was disappointed, but she also thought that it was for the best. She might not have been a vampire, but mingled in with the delicious scent of his cologne, she could simply smell trouble rolling off him.

* * *

Merlotte's had the homey, laid-back and authentic air of a local diner that so many places in LA had tried and failed to replicate. Classic rock played softly from speakers as some patrons had their dinner and others played at a pool table in the back, betting and jeering against each other. Enough animals hung on the walls to make the average taxidermist enthusiast excited, relics of hunting trips from locals, if the plaques under them were anything to go by. For a long moment, Sasha's eyes landed on the buck hanging over the bar top.

"Hi!"

Sasha jumped as a pretty redheaded waitress popped up, her smile dazzling and blue eyes bright. "Welcome to Merlotte's. Can I get you a seat at a table, or would you prefer the bar?"

The waitress was a vampire. It wasn't something she hadn't seen before; ever since vampires had come out of the proverbial closet, many places had become twenty-four hours or at the very least had started keeping late hours, places like libraries and movie theaters and shops. Young vampires had flocked to fill these positions. But while it was common enough in large cities like Los Angeles, she hadn't expected a vampire waitress in a place like this, not in a small town in Louisiana. Merlotte's had too much of a mom-and-pop feel for it.

 _So Eric recommends this place, but isn't on good terms with the people—but a vampire works here?_

"The bar is fine," said Sasha, returning the vampire waitress's smile.

"Then feel free to sit wherever you like. Sam's out back for a minute, but you can order your drinks from him. I'll come by for your order when you've had a minute to look over the menu. I'm Jessica, just holler when you need me,"

Jessica moved on to get an order from a table of four, and Sasha watched her curiously for a moment. She was somewhat amused to see that graceful as the girl was, she seemed to remember herself and then force a semblance of humanity to her movements. Sasha could guess she hadn't been vampire long.

Sasha took a seat at the bar, pulling the nearest menu towards her. Eric had been right; she needed to eat. All the walking and near-possession had left her stomach all but growling for sustenance, and she was near ravenous when her eyes drank in the menu. She might not have been fond Louisiana in general, but she had nothing against the food.

"Our gumbo's had folks in here coming in for second and third helpins all day,"

Sasha looked up to find a man in his mid thirties slip behind the counter. He was dressed simply in jeans and a well-worn plaid shirt; Jessica had worn a uniform, so she guessed that this must be the diner's owner. He smiled kindly at her, and she guessed him to be Sam.

"But if you're hungry for a juicy burger, our Merlotte's Classic always hits the spot, guaranteed,"

"I was sold at gumbo," said Sasha, folding up the laminated menu and placing it back where she'd found it on the counter.

"Coming right up!" Jessica said cheerfully as she passed by. Sasha grinned; there were certainly advantages to having a vampire as a waitress.

"Can I get you something to drink?" asked the Sam.

"A beer sounds great right about now," said Sasha.

As the man got to work filling up a tall glass for her, she said, "I'm looking for the owner. Are you him?"

"Depends. Do I owe ya money?" he teased, placing her beer in front of her. Though his friendly demeanor hadn't changed and he was very clearly joking with her, his eyes had taken on a guarded sheen. He had a secret, as most people did. Sasha wondered what his was; she was willing to bet it wasn't your average secret, the I'm-a-married-man-fooling-around-with-my-neighbor kind of secret, not after the night she'd had. Did she dare trust the mysterious vampire that had dropped her off here?

"I was told I could get some help here. See, my car broke down a few miles up the road. I was able to hitch a ride into town, but I need a motel to crash in and the number of your local mechanic," she explained.

"I'm real sorry to hear about your troubles," said Sam. Despite his guard being up, his tone appeared genuine to her ears. "But not to worry, this a friendly place. We can get you up on your feet and passing through. You are passing through, ain't you?"

She wasn't sure if he asked because she looked liked a drifter, or because he was subtly warning her that simply passing through was her best option. She took a sip of her beer. "Yeah, just passing through,"

Sam Merlotte smiled widely at her like she'd answered correctly.

"Lucky for you, this is kinda the hang out spot," said Sam. He nodded his head to the pool table. "That's Earl Jenkins. He runs the Motel on Weston Road. I'll admit it's not much, but it's got running water and a fair price. If you explain your situation, I'm sure he'd be glad to give you a ride back to the motel. He ain't no creep, neither," Sam added.

Sasha thought she'd be the judge of that, but she grinned at Sam all the same. "That's very helpful, thank you. Earl Jenkins, you said?"

Sam nodded. "As far as a mechanic, you'll want to talk to Patty Evans. You can give her a call or find her here in the mornings. Weston Road ain't far from here, if you find yourself having to walk. Patty's real good at her job too, and she's honest folk. Won't yank ya around just because you're an outta towner,"

On paper it all just sounded way too good to be true, which was why Sasha kept her guard up. A broken down car, helpful vampires in fancy sports cars, ghost possessions, vampire waitresses? Nice townsfolk? Sasha was willing to bet there was something incredibly fucked up afoot, and she'd be getting to hell out of Bon Temps at first chance. Unfortunately, she'd have to stay the night first.

* * *

 **Hi! If you've looked up my other two TB stories, know that they are currently on hold/will be VERY sporadically updated as I've been focusing my efforts on this story for months. This first chapter is a complete one-eighty from the first draft-like, _extremely_ different, but I think it's better, mostly because it's more exciting, interesting, and originally Eric Northman wasn't showing up until the end of Chapter 2.**

 **This will be a slow burn story and somewhat AU, so don't expect to have everything revealed too soon! This loosely follows the plot of Season 4; this happens right about the time Sookie departs for her little Fae-vacation, and although she'll eventually make an appearance in the story, that won't be for a long time, as I am taking the creative liberty to fill in the year she was gone with some adventures.**

 **Please feel free to drop me a review! I love having dialogue with my readers!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Cemeteries Are For Meeting People**

"Fuck me."

Those were the words Sasha Buckley greeted the world with the next morning. She'd yet to open her eyes and already she was regretting being awake. While Sam Merlotte might have been right about Earl Jenkins's motel having a fair price and running water, he'd neglected to mention that the mattresses were riddled with springs that dug into so deeply into her back she's have to pry them out with a crowbar, roaches of an alarmingly abnormal size, and an air conditioner that had given up on working sometime in the eighties. The thing was _ancient_ and somewhere around three am, when she'd been dying of heat and humidity and balanced herself on the rickety desk chair to try to get the thing to work, it hadn't done anything more than cough once in her face, spewing a layer of dust as old as the unit itself, and then refused to turn back on.

Back aching, Sasha moved out of bed and into the bathroom, showering quickly (running water yes, hot water to rid herself fully of grime _no_ ) and then changed. She went through her bag quickly, glad she'd had the foresight of stuffing a change of clothes in there, and counted how much cash she had on her. She probably had more than anyone expected her to carry on her person, and definitely enough to pay for the room and food, likely enough to cover work on the Camaro, too. She'd have to stop by an ATM sometime in the next few days, though. The second she did that, however, anyone looking for her would easily find her.

Next, Sasha checked her phone. She'd let it charge all night, and now that she checked the pink Blackberry, nothing looked out of place. She saw she had a few missed calls, all from Eoin. She smirked to herself when she checked his messages. They were riddled with creative curses to express his fury at rising and finding his car missing. There was one message from an unknown number.

 _Safe travels. Be smart. Be in control. Return when you can._

For a moment her eyes glazed over with tears, so much so the phone's screen became blurry. Her booted feet planted into the dirty motel floor carpet, elbows propping up on her knees as her hands curled into a tight fist pressed against her mouth. Her eyes screwed shut tightly, silent sobs wracking through her. The message might have been cryptic to anyone else, but she understood it well. And, most important, had been the final line.

 _Return when you can_.

She'd had reservations about stealing away in the dead of day, without a word or warning. Then again, Malachi had probably guessed she'd been leaving, had guessed she needed to get out LA. A part of her had been terrified that after everything, her taking off so abruptly might have angered him, but the text was proof he understood, and that he'd be leaving the door unlocked for her to come home when she felt ready.

A knock on the door startled her out of her emotional reverie. Despite no tears having fallen, she wiped at her cheeks and under her eyes, taking in a deep breath and fixing a smile on her face to go answer the door.

It was a woman. Her name was Holly, and she explained that she was staying in the room three doors down with her two sons. They'd recently lost their house in a fire, and where staying at the motel until they found a new place. She worked at Merlotte's, and she said that Sam had given her a call to let her know about Sasha's situation.

"I'm headed into work now, so if you need a ride anywhere, I'd be more than happy to help," said Holly.

It was all very nice and well, and Sasha appreciated the friendly, small-town efforts to get a stranger back on their feet. But suspicion was intertwined in her nature, and as much as she liked to pretend that she did, she didn't believe in coincidences. She felt very much under surveillance.

She carefully looked Holly over as she spoke. She had dirty blonde curly hair and a nice smile. Her accent pinpointed that she was a Louisiana native, but none of those things caught Sasha's attention. It was other, smaller things, like the fact that she smelled like frankincense, lavender and patchouli, and that she had a necklace around her neck with a familiar symbol.

Leaning against the doorframe of her room, Sasha asked, "Are you a witch, Holly?"

Holly's complaints about the motel's living conditions came to an abrupt stop. She blinked at her in surprise, neither alarmed nor offended. Simply genuinely astonished.

"I'm not a huge fan of the w-word, but sure. I'm a practitioner of Wicca, to be specific about it," said Holly. "It's what feels spiritually right for me. Are you a fellow practitioner?"

Internalizing a grim smile, Sasha shook her head. "No, I just saw your necklace. Some school friends of mine have dabbled,"

"It's gotten real common since the whole vampire thing," Holly said with a small grin. "I'd love to talk to you about it some time, if you're interested. Wicca's got a lot of bad rap unfortunately, but it's really a very beautiful, spiritual thing. I ain't ever been very religious, but I've always considered myself spiritual. Wicca's what works for me,"

Sasha declined the invitation, but she did accept a ride to Merlotte's. She decided to have breakfast before attempting to get her car sorted, mostly because she had to have coffee to be a fully functioning human being. There was no way she was giving the sketchy coffee maker in her room a chance.

* * *

Sasha was digging into a beautiful plate of eggs, bacon, and hash browns when a hush fell over the diner. She'd taken a corner booth this time, and from her spot she had eyes on just about the whole place. Now she saw that a blond man no older than thirty had come in. He wore faded blue jeans and battered work boots, sported a strong five o'clock shadow and scraggly hair. What she was sure was a handsome, boyish face was lined by a heavy frown.

The coffee that had been halfway to her lips froze as Sasha was hit by a strong wave of despair. There was no mistaking where it was coming from. She felt a twinge of sympathy for him. Whoever he was, whatever had happened to him, it was strong enough to affect the very air around him, enough so that other patrons in the bar shifted uncomfortably, unaware that they too were tuning into his strong emotional aura.

Oddly enough, sympathy wasn't the only feeling in the room. As the man dragged himself to the bar, pointedly ignoring the silence, whispers and hushed conversations sprouted about. Unmistakably, there was some hot gossip about.

"Need a refill, hon?" asked Holly as she stopped by her table.

"Please," said Sasha, holding out her mug. Her curiosity burning, she reached out for Holly, immediately taking her and away before she made contact with the bare skin of the waitress's arm. She'd decided that Holly wasn't a powerful witch, likely not even a very good one. Still, she refrained from touching her, cautious not to give anything about herself away. There were people in the world that could tell a lot from a single touch, and she was weary of that.

"Hey Holly, who's that?" asked Sasha, nodding toward the blond man. Holly followed her gesture, expression dropping sadly.

"That's Jason Stackhouse. He's a real sweetheart, but he's been real depressed lately. His sister went missing a few weeks ago. She was really nice. Actually, she was a waitress here," said Holly. Holly glanced around, then leaned in a little. "Some people think it was vampires. She was dating one, hung around some others,"

Holly left her to mull it over, and Sasha bit her lip, knuckles turning white from the force she gripped her silverware.

She didn't want to see it, but little puzzle pieces were tumbling onto the table before her, each intriguing enough on its own, but dangerously fascinating when contrasted to each other. And Sasha, Sasha was a sucker for the strange and curious, even when she was on the run from it.

Malachi had called her curiosity charming. Her father had once told her it would only get her into trouble. This was the rare occasion she was inclined to agree with her father.

 _You're getting your car fixed and then you are gone. This isn't any of your business_.

And that was what Sasha told herself as she scarfed down her breakfast. But try as she might, the vampire from the night before, Eric, sauntered into the forefront of her mind. He'd been peeling out of Bon Temps like a bat out of hell; what had he really been doing here? Was he the missing girl's vampire boyfriend? She thought about that moment in the car, when their eyes had locked and she'd felt her energy spasm in a way it hadn't in a very long time. The moment might have looked romantic from the outside, but it had simply been yet another curiosity. Something in her had reacted to him; had that been an instinct unearth, telling her to run the other way? A deep-rooted warning, a primal instinct warning her what lay behind a handsome face? Whatever it had been, she was certain he had felt it too.

* * *

True to her reputation, Patty Evans had been fair about her work on the car. She'd had her son tow it into town and, after identifying the problem, she'd sent out for parts. She promised that between acquisition and delivery of the part, the work would be done by the next morning, afternoon at worst. Sasha slipped Patty an extra hundred dollars to make sure the car was ready by morning, and that had been that. That left her with a day to kill.

Bon Temps didn't offer much in the way of tourist attractions. Merlotte's it turned out was so much the place to be as the _only_ place to be, and the only other significant landmarks were the churches (apparently Bon Temps needed so much saving there were _two_ churches in the tiny town), the cemetery, and the local swimming hole.

By four o'clock in the afternoon it hadn't cooled down any, the humidity was frying, and Sasha chose to check out one of the swim spots.

The pretty little ring on her ring finger might have suppressed the unnatural energy that was in her veins, preventing her from using it and others from smelling it or spotting it in her, but there were just some things that it couldn't block, and that was some of the natural, extra senses she'd been born with. Those little 'extras' as she liked to think of them, didn't give her much grief about occasionally using them, which was why when she dipped her toe into the water's edge, she also felt around for the presence of anything bigger than a freshwater fish, namely alligators. Assured that she was alone, she stripped to her underwear, leaving her clothes on the rickety wooden deck.

The water was divine and, Sasha mused, likely cleaner than that in her motel room. She basked in the coolness of the water against her skin and in her hair, eyes shutting as the late afternoon sunrays danced across her face. Somewhat begrudgingly, she admitted that the smell of the earth and sounds of nature were something the city lacked. Los Angeles might not be her favorite city in the world, but it was home. Still, this wasn't half bad—

Sasha screamed, floundering backwards in the water and drinking in a little too much as she found herself face to face with a man.

It was the man from the road.

The _ghost_ from the road.

"Shh—hey, hey! I just wanna talk!" he said holding his hands up. It was unnerving seeing him swimming in the water right next to her, completely dry.

"Yeah, I don't think so, buddy," she said, shaking her head. "You wanted to do a little more than talk last night!"

The man shook his head. "Look, I'm real sorry about that. I didn't mean nothing by it—just, it's hard to control. I thinka something, of somewhere in town and I'm just there—this ain't easy. And you're the first to see me—I freaked out, all right?"

Sasha coughed up a little more water, staring at the ghost cautiously. "Well if you haven't figured it out yet, you're dead," she croaked.

"I got that part," said the ghost. Suddenly his face contorted with rage. "That little blonde bitch! That fang fucking little cunt! She did this to me!"

Sasha gasped at the explosion of fury and quickly tried to swim away towards the dock. That was one of the problems with a lot of ghosts. They didn't have anything to tether them properly, and they could flip through emotions too unpredictably. Like now.

She screamed as a cold hand wrapped around her ankle, dragging her back through the water. Her face fell under water, cutting off her scream. She kicked wildly at him, trying to surface for air.

And there was the other problem with ghost. Most people didn't have the ability to see them, much less interact with them. But people like Sasha who could see them, they were vulnerable to being attacked by them.

"Let go!" she screamed at him.

She yelped as he slammed her back against his chest, his hand coming around her neck roughly, cold, ghostly breath chilling her ear.

"You got into that car with that fanger. You fuck him? You sucked his dead prick, didn't you, you little fang slut,"

Sasha thrashed against him, trying to peel his hand away from her neck. Pain flared at her throat as he squeezed even tighter.

"I don't see any fang marks—you drink his blood too? You filthy blood whore! You, you all disgust me!"

His hand left her throat, and Sasha had barely taken a gulp of fresh air when his fingers dug into her hair, finger nails digging sharply into her scalp. She screamed in pain, bucking and thrashing harder than ever, but it was no use, because he dunked her head underwater, holding her down with all his strength.

* * *

The sun hadn't quite gone down when Eric Northman rose from his coffin, cracking his head and sighing deeply. He breathed in sharply through his nose, trying hard to concentrate on the musty basement smells of his would-be dungeon.

His thoughts returned to the girl from the road, the strange little hitchhiker he had taken pity on. After ascertaining that the near-road kill was actually incredibly attractive, he'd gotten the sense that there wasn't something quite right about her or at least, not completely natural. She'd been lying in the middle of the road, her eyes—strange beautiful eyes, one a vibrant green the other a burst of golden brown—had been searching the darkness for danger, even though _he'd_ been the one standing over her, had nearly flattened her with his car.

It was true that her beauty was a welcome break from the common tropes of Fangtasia, in a way that a certain blonde's had been, though he refused to think about her now. Her mane of curls had enthralled him, his wicked brain thinking of the delicious mess they'd be in after a night of passion. He'd rather liked her thighs, too, the strong lean muscles had called to him from beneath her tiny little shorts. There was just something about feeling a woman's legs really grip around him when he was inside her that was irreplaceable.

And then there was her _scent_ , which he was still trying to rid himself of. It was an uncommon mix, heady and powerful and dangerous. It was still in his nose, and it was so strong when he'd returned to Fangtasia, he'd sat in his car for nearly an hour with his eyes shut and his mind wandering before realizing what he was doing.

In her scent he had tasted the salt of a far away sea, crisp and energizing. There had been the raw, smooth notes of honey mixed with a bite of spice—

His fangs ached again. They'd ached during the entire time he'd driven her to Bon Temps, urging his instincts to take over, to pull over and sink his fangs into her. She'd aroused his sexual interest, but it was his vampire instincts that had threatened to overcome him in a way they hadn't since he'd been a newborn. Her scent had been so compelling he'd had to stop breathing to prevent himself from doing something regrettable.

Eric glided his hand over the black lacquer of his coffin absently, wondering if her skin would feel as smooth.

 _But warm. It would also be warm_ , he thought. Eric blinked, snapping himself out of his reverie. He didn't mind the thoughts so much as he minded how strong they were, and he began to wonder if he had been prudent to drop her off and leave, or if he'd been an idiot to let her get away. Sookie Stackhouse— _don't think about her—_ had taught him that if it smelled inhuman, it probably was. But this girl wasn't fae, he was sure of it. Sookie had smelled too floral, and though there had definitely been something earthy and musky about the girl's scent, it wasn't that drug-like too-sweet fae blood.

 _And she knew vampires_ , thought Eric. She'd been purposely vague with her answers, but he was certain enough about that. Then again, she didn't strike him as the typical fangbanger.

"It's for the best,"

"What is?"

Eric turned, finding his progeny rising from her lurid coffin. He hated the thing, but he'd also been the one that had bought it for her, knowing its feminine extravagance would appeal to her. He'd been, of course, right. The sight of the pink-frilled, pearl embossed coffin had made Pam the most agreeable she'd been in a century the first week he'd gifted it to her.

He was surprised to find her awake so soon, at least until he realized that he'd lost track of time once again, slipped into his brooding once more and it was now after sunset.

"Eric?" asked Pam, glancing at him in worry. He knew that, though she was happy to be rid of Sookie, she also worried about him. Eric wasn't as concerned with the situation as she might think, mostly because unlike others, he had hope Sookie would return safe and sound.

"I thought I heard Ginger pleasuring herself in my office again," Eric said smoothly. His progeny's eyes narrowed.

"I think the fuck not, not after last time. I'm pretty sure I came close to scaring her outta her damn skin when I caught her," said Pam. Eric grinned at her. People really did only ever underestimate her once.

Pushing the thought of beautiful girls and beautiful scents out of his mind, he smirked at her.

"Time for another night of work."

* * *

Body quivering, Sasha heaved another mouthful of lake water onto the dock planks where she rested on all fours, lungs and throat burning. Where before she'd been too hot she was now shivering from the cold, both the chill of the ghost and the chill of near drowning. She fell onto her back, taking in greedy gulps of fresh air, chest rising and falling rapidly. Beams of afternoon sunlight light filtered down through the trees, tickling her in their contrast to her cool skin.

It was pure, dumb fucking luck that she was alive at all, and Sasha didn't know whether to laugh at the absurdity of it all—of a ghost trying to drown her because it thought she'd slept with some random vampire, because _seriously_ what the hell was that all about?—or to cry because she was only alive because she'd found a piece of rusty iron at the bottom of the lake.

That had been handy, because just as ghosts couldn't make contact with most things, most things couldn't make contact with them. They were funny like that. Iron was one of the few substances known to repel ghosts, and though she hadn't been able to stab the ghost (it wasn't like he was going to die again, anyway) the iron had been enough to dispel his semi-corporeal body and send him packing back to the ghostly plane…for now. Sasha wasn't sure how long it would take for him to gather his energy and reform on the earthly plane again, but he was already stronger than most ghosts, and she wasn't willing to bet she could wait until she skipped town.

There was only one thing left to do.

* * *

Sasha got a lot of looks as she navigated her way around Bon Temps. She was sure it was only half because she was drenched and smelled like the lake. Lake was an improvement to how some of the locals smelled anyway.

To be rid of the ghost, Sasha first had to _know_ the ghost. And so her first order of business was to find the local paper and ask to go through their archives. As it went, Bon Temps didn't have a local paper, and consumed the Country paper, and copies weren't stored anywhere locally.

The library wasn't any help either, because the magazines that they kept on file were either about Civil War related historical finds "("You Won't Believe Which Local Name Is Descendent From THIS Confederate Hero") or about fishing and hunting. She'd nearly been kicked out of the library because she'd asked them what the point of the local branch was if they didn't even keep newspapers archived, because people weren't certainly reading if every notable book had a three-inch layer of dust on it.

Somewhat defeated, it wasn't until Sasha dragged her sorry ass back to Merlotte's that she had the idea. It was so obvious she hadn't thought of it before, mostly because she'd gotten so used to living in the city. Who the hell talked to their neighbors in the city?

"Hey Sam, know anyone from here that's dead that hated vampires and people that hung out with them?"

A plate of dishes and drinks crashed to the floor behind her, and Sasha turned around to find one of the waitresses bolt for the bathroom. She was another redhead, though her red was extreme and from the bottle, and she was older than Jessica. She was in her mid to late thirties and, Sasha saw, had tear tracks running down her face.

Sam swore. "The hell you want to know about him for? And what the hell happened to you?" he asked, gesturing to her unkempt appearance.

"Yes, yes, _him_ ," said Sasha, ignoring his question. "Who's 'him'? He have a name? A place where he was buried? Please say Bon Temps cemetery—and _please_ tell he wasn't cremated,"

Sam looked at her suspiciously. "You ain't one of them serial killer fan girls, are you?"

"What? No," said Sasha. "Wait, he's a serial killer? Jesus that makes sense,"

"How the hell do you know about René Lenier?"

Sasha raised an eyebrow. "That is so not a real name,"

"Well, turned out his real name is Drew Marshall—how do you know that wasn't his real name?" asked Sam, brow furrowing. Sasha scoffed.

"Because it rhymes," said Sasha. "Where's he buried?"

Looking uncomfortable, he said, "Bon Temps Cemetery—hey wait! Sasha!"

* * *

Mercifully, it was all pretty easy, and over in a few undisturbed hours. Bon Temps cemetery was small, and it wasn't patrolled by any form of security. It was simply there, nestled between two large properties, one a sprawling estate and another a cute yellow house. The driveway of the yellow house had emitted a strange energy, and she steered clear of it, focusing on the cemetery. She really didn't want to know.

Finding the grave was easy—it was a simple grave with simply the man's name (his real one) birth year and death year. Sasha hadn't been entirely surprised to see that his death was as recent as earlier that year. It explained why he was so strong.

It was the digging that was the worst. Her body was still sore from the terrible motel bed, but now she'd also suffered through a ghost attack and a near drowning, and she was a little worse for wear. Bruises had blossomed at her neck and Marshall's fingernails had left marks against her scalp. The last time she'd done this, Eoin had been with her and he and his vampire speed and strength had taken care of the digging-up bit. That ghost had also been far friendlier, realizing it was haunting its old home and kindly asking Sasha to take care of its remains when it realized she could her.

Cracking open the grimy coffin had been gross, and worse than the body and the smell of decay had been the creepy crawlies. Sasha had to stifle several screams as she quickly doused the body in lighter fluid—she was _not_ down with spiders—and she was all too happy to light a match and toss it into the grave.

All in all, it was very anticlimactic. By the time the body was properly burned her hair had dried—it was also a complete and utter mess of tangles—and when she'd finished packing the dirt back into the grave, the sun had set. Sasha slumped against the back of Drew Marshall's grave, reaching for her bag for her lighter and American Spirits.

"Here's to quitting," she mumbled around the cigarette as she brought her lighter to it. The end glowed cherry red in the dark, and she took in a deep drag.

So what, this one was well deserved. She'd banished the ghost of a serial killer that had plagued a town before it got strong enough to wreck havoc on it once again; people like her typically charged for that shit. It was silly to think that of all the things in the world, it would be a cigarette that would do _her_ in.

"Then again, the irony of that would be pretty damn…" Sasha trailed off, eyes widening and her cigarette falling out of her mouth as her jaw dropped. It singed her hand on the way down, then went out in a damp clump of dirt.

But Sasha's attention was on another clump of dirt, the one sitting across from her. She'd noticed the fresh grave earlier, and she hadn't paid much attention to it. Only now the dirt was _moving_ , something rolling beneath it—

A grimy, pale hand stuck broke free from the dirt.

Sasha swore.

"Oh _fuck_ this town!"

* * *

 **A huge thank you to** _cdsnow_ **for their review! Thanks to those who favorited and followed the story! Please review, whether to tell me what you liked or didn't like, so I can work on improving!  
If this appears too OC driven at the moment, rest assured that will change. I really want to rush into everything that is Eric Northman, but I promised myself I'd work on character development and in taking my time with this story, to make it more 'believable' as far as character motivations go. I want to steer clear over the typical OC insert. It's going to be somewhat AU, but I still want the characters we all know and love to stay in character. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Orphan Jack**

At the tender age of twenty-five, Sasha Buckley had already seen and done a lot than most people dreamed of, much less could ever begin to believe to even be possible. The good, the bad, and the in between, she'd experienced it. Still, a hand striking out of the dirt of a fresh grave was something of a _what the actual fuck_ moment even for her, and she stared at the dirty hand, struck to her core.

Awestruck or horrorstruck, she wasn't quite yet sure.

A second hand burst from the earth, just as pale and dirt encrusted as the first. The hands scrambled for purchase, followed by the groans and grunts of pain and exertion. The dirt shook and tumbled as something dug its way out.

Logically speaking, Sasha was pretty fucking sure of what she was seeing. She was, after all, in a graveyard after sundown. But what the hell were the odds of _that_ happened just when happened to have been there crisping a ghost's cadaver?

Low. Very, very low.

As logic began to take over, her instinct reminded her that if what she thought was happening was happening, this was likely not a good place to be. She scrambled to her feet and ran, throwing a fleeting look over her shoulder. She was pretty sure she spotted a head in the midst of the flailing limbs.

There was no way she run fast enough to be far enough, and so she ducked behind a moss covered tree, reaching down to a patch of muddy dirt and rubbing it into her skin. Masking her scent was important, but it wouldn't mean jack if she didn't slow down her heartbeat. Right now, hammering like it was in her chest, it was ringing like a fucking dinner bell.

It was difficult, but she drew on her years of yoga and training, remembered everything Malachi had taught. _You will never stop your heartbeat if you are afraid. Therefore it is simply easiest to control what you are afraid of. Conquer your fears, and very little will frighten you._ Sasha had rolled her eyes massively at this particular lesson. But he had been right, and it had been a long time since she had been afraid to die. She learned to accept that she would someday anyway, and now she wasn't ruled and tripped up by her fear of death. No, now her stubbornness and her refusal to meet death in any way but on her own terms aided her.

And now? This was certainly not how she was going to die. She couldn't control the situation, but she'd be damned if she couldn't control herself. Eyes shut, head tipped back against the tree and dirty as all hell, Sasha dropped her heart rate.

Then she peeked out from the forked branches of the tree.

He was a man, no—a boy. Sasha didn't think he was older than seventeen, eighteen years old. His clothes were torn and dirtied, earth and grime sticking to his moonlit skin. He looked about wildly, chest heaving from a reflex of the life he'd led before his burial.

Sasha had never seen a newborn vampire so close to new life. She knew it to be a private time between maker and progeny, important to the new bond formed between them. It was also incredibly dangerous to anything with a heartbeat, as the newborn would be ravenous for blood. Weary as she was of the danger, the curious side of her reveled at being able to witness such a wondrous sight. For a moment she pictured herself as the young newborn. If she ever decided to go through with it, there was no way in hell she wasn't being buried without a hair cap on—

The newborn let out a low, howl of pain, and Sasha started as he fell to his knees, sobbing.

" _Peter!_ "

Goosebumps broke out across Sasha's skin. The wail was gut-wrenching heartbreaking. The single name had been uttered with such pain, such misery. She frowned, staring at the grave the newborn had clawed out of. Her entire body went cold with realization.

Whoever this boy was, he was alone. His maker was not in the grave with him.

 _Shit_ , thought Sasha. An unsupervised newborn was bad for a number of reasons; it was likely to start feeding without stopping, unable to control its urges. Where was his maker? The maker should have been there with fresh blood, should have been there to show him the way.

The boy continued to cry, his sobs so miserable that Sasha's eyes began to sting. He'd been abandoned, and to this new life? What vampire could be so cruel?

She shifted her weight as she contemplated her options, and a twig snapped underfoot. She froze.

"W-who's there?" came a broken voice. "Peter? Peter is that you?"

Cursing herself and the vampire that had turned the boy, Sasha took in a deep breath.

"Hi." Instantly she cringed. _Hi? That's the best you got?_ "I'm Sasha,"

"Where, where are you?" the newborn called back.

Withholding a groan at her own stupidity, Sasha slowly stepped out of the shadow of the tree and into the light cast by the moon. If anyone happened upon them now, they'd certainly make an interesting pair, grimy as they were. And in a graveyard no less.

The newborn was on his knees, and tracks of blood muddled with dirt tracking down his cheeks. His eyes were pools of silvery blue so bright they shown in the moonlight, hair long and wavy down to his chin.

"What's your name?" Sasha called to him. She didn't move any closer, and she forced her muscles not to tense up. In California she remembered being taught that, if ever up against a bear, to never run. Running would trigger the chase instinct; this was not unlike that.

"Jack. I'm Jack," he sniffled. "A-are you a vampire?"

Sasha merely smiled, deciding against bringing attention to the fact she had a pulse. Instead she asked, "Are you alone?"

Jack looked back at the gravesite he had crawled out of, eyes desolate. "Peter. H-he left. He p- _promised_ ," Jack fell into another round of sobs, burying his face against his knees, rocking back and forth. "Why? Why would he do that?"

"I'm so sorry, Jack," said Sasha. She could feel tears collecting once again. As delicately as she could, she asked, "Jack, do you know any vampires?"

"No," cried Jack, trembling all over now. "No, I'm alone. He left me,"

The dangerous heat of fury shot up her veins, unfreezing her muscles.

"Jack, I know this may sound strange, but I need you to stop breathing," she told him as carefully as she could while still being firm.

"Br-breathing?" he asked, looking up at her.

The wind changed in that instance, stirring through her hair and rushing straight for the newborn vampire. She saw him take a deep breath in and, when his eyes changed, she knew she was in trouble.

If she didn't know any better, Sasha was very certain that the universe was plotting to kill her.

" _Shit_ ,"

He was on her before she'd even turned, and she landed on her stomach, the vampire on her back. He went straight for her neck and she screamed in pain as his fangs bit through her skin clumsily.

"J-Jack s-stop!" she begged, pain flaring down to her chest and up to her jaw. But the vampire was lost in a haze of blood, feeding greedily from her neck. "Jack, _please!_ "

Jack's weight was lifted off of her in an instance, and she gasped, rolling over onto her stomach, one hand clutching at her bleeding neck as the other look around the graveyard for the newborn. He was leaning back against a tree, fresh tears flowing, open shock framing his eyes.

"I'msorryI'msorryI'm _sorry_ ," he sobbed. "I didn't mean to—I don't want to h-hurt anyone. Please forgive me I just—I don't—this wasn't supposed to happen _none_ –it none—how—" His words fumbled through his own agony, and she could feel his self hatred from the other side of the graveyard. Dizzy from her wound, Sasha forced herself up to an elbow.

"I can't—I hear _everything_ —please just make it _stop_!" he wailed, tearing at his hair.

"Jack, Jack it's all right. I need you to calm down. It's difficult, but you can control yourself. Just, find one sound in the dirt and focus on that.

"I just want it over!" he screamed at her, spit flying. "I—" he broke off, eyes landing on something in the ground. It was her shovel. Sasha blinked and he was standing over Drew Marshall's grave, shovel in hand. She heard the handle break off before even seeing it, and she tasted the bitter sourness of bile as she realized what he was going to do. Both hands on the splintered shovel wood, he raised it high above his chest. He brought it down.

" _No_!" Sasha screamed, throwing her left hand out. A wave of hot, searing energy collected in her chest and shot down her arm. The ruby on her ring shattered into tiny pieces as a ball of purple energy burst forth. It expanded and slammed into the vampire like a wall, shattering the wooden broom handle in his hand. The vampire soared through the air and smacked against the cemetery gate, falling to the ground, out cold.

A pocket of hot air exploding above her ring and Sasha was blown backward off her feet. She fell against a headstone, forehead colliding off the marble, unconscious.

* * *

Cold droplets of water smacked down on her face, causing Sasha to come to slowly. Disoriented as she was, it took her a while to realize that she was lying on her side, half her face in damp grass and her body soaked.

It was raining.

Letting out a creative string of curses, Sasha dragged herself to her feet, gasping as pain shot through her body. She cursed the day she had decided to leave California. A big, knotted ball of hatred for the small town of Bon Temps was growing in the pit of her stomach by the hour. She touched a hand to her forehead, wincing at how tender it felt. She wiped the wetness that had collected at her hairline, adding rain to her long list of curses.

The newborn was easy to find. He was slumped against the cemetery floor, an arm bent awkwardly through the black gate he had fallen against. Surprisingly he was still out cold; her fingers tingled as she looked up at the sky. Judging by the lifting darkness, they'd been out for hours.

Standing over him, her mind began to race. Poor Jack. Turned and abandoned by his maker. She hoped that, wherever he was, his maker could feel Jack's misery and was feeling guilt as hell. Maybe he'd come back for him. Maybe this wasn't at all what it looked like—maybe extenuating circumstances had forced Jack's maker away, or maybe…

Or, maybe, Jack had been left to his new undead life. She recalled his miserable sobs and felt dread wash over her. That was the anguish of abandonment. In any case, it didn't really matter now, not with dawn so quickly approaching. Wrinkling her nose in designated defeat, she stooped down, disregarding the pain that flared up her back as she wrapped her hands around his skinny ankles and began to drag him back to the shallow grave.

It looked like a long, long night was turning into a long, long day.

" _Fuck_ Louisiana," she muttered as she pulled the unexpectedly heavy boy through the grass and grime. "But fuck Bon Temps in particular,"

* * *

Sasha slumped against Merlotte's bar top, feeling especially self-pitiful. Although she'd finally had a shower back at her motel room, it was impossible to feel quite as fresh and squeaky-clean as she would have liked. The bags under her eyes were so heavy she swore she could feel them slipping down her cheeks, her mouth felt uncommonly dry, and she ached all over. She was also exhausted and ravenous, and the thin silk square she'd dug out of her bag and wrapped around her neck was hot.

The silk square attracted a lot of attention that morning, and Sasha was confident in her guess that the patrons of Merlotte's weren't exactly interested in it because it was vintage Hermès. They weren't completely stupid, and they all put two-and-two together and knew that a scarf, no matter how small, in mid-August was covering up fang marks. Her forehead itched, and Sasha rubbed absently at it, imagining _fangbanger_ tattooed strongly there. Even Sam Merlotte, who she's surmised was the cautious and protective type over his town, was eyeing her with more mistrust than usual.

"My eyes are up here, Sam," she bit out. Between ghosts and newborn vampires, she really didn't need ignorant, judgmental townsfolk giving her the evil eye before coffee. Sam's baby blues darkened as they jumped back up to meet hers, jaw ticking a bit.

"Late night?" he asked.

"Says the nudist," she shot back. "I don't know what party _you_ were straggling back from at the ass crack of dawn in your birthday suit in, but I'm not about to give a grown ass man a lecture on something that isn't my business,"

She wasn't really looking for a fight, even if all her pent up frustration and confusion and anger might have desired one. Sam, despite being weary of her since her arrival in town, had been gracious and generous, and he didn't deserve her total feistiness. Still, she was torn between confusion and disappointment when he didn't blow up with anger, didn't meet her confrontational attitude with his own. Instead he looked a little alarmed.

He coughed, shaking his head. "I ain't surprised you saw some naked fella running around these parts, but it sure as hell wasn't me. I'm goin' get you that coffee you clearly need."

"Yeah, you do that," Sasha said flatly. Her eyes narrowed on the back of his usual plaid shirt. Then they smoothed out. She was _so_ not about to go there; let Sam Merlotte keep whatever secret he was hiding to himself. Sasha was beyond sure that it had been him she'd seen streaking through the woods earlier that morning when she'd been leaving the cemetery. "Just so you know, nude owner of the local watering hole isn't even the weirdest shit I've seen in this town,"

Sam placed a big blue ceramic mug of coffee in front of her. The rich, nutty aroma of the coffee immediately soothed her. For a moment Sam stared at her, looking like he wanted to say something, maybe defend himself or probe her to explain what she meant. Then a similar, 'not my problem' look filled his eyes, and he held his hands up like a white flag.

"What can I getcha?"

"Something greasy and a lot of it, thanks,"

Sam slapped the counter and then went over to put her order in. Her grumpy expression hadn't let up any by the time he returned, just as the lines of tension in his shoulders were still present. But, as she took a sip of her coffee, her eyes peering at him over the lip of her enormous mug, she told him, "Sorry for snapping,"

Sam glanced up at her, a smiling at the corners of his mouth. He pointed the pen he'd been using to jot down inventory at her. "Shut up and drink your free coffee,"

Glad at least to have made peace with her coffee dealer—she was pleasantly surprised by just how good, great really, the coffee was here at Merlotte's—she minded her own damn business as she waited for her breakfast. In her head she was putting together a bullet point list of what to do before she skipped town. It was a given she couldn't leave the newborn just like that, not if his maker had truly abandoned him. If they couldn't find his maker, she'd have to bring him to vampires, preferably one in authority. She wondered whose territory she was in, and if it was governed by a reasonable Sheriff and how far that Sheriff was located.

She was halfway through her breakfast and plans when one of the hottest bits of town gossip walked into the diner. She recognized him as the man with the missing sister, and she observed him unabashedly as he took the seat next to hers at the bar, greeting Sam with a familiar nod of his head.

"Lotta coffee, bud," said the blond. Sam nodded, sympathy clear in his eyes as he filled up a mug for the blond.

He looked a mess, his blue jeans faded and dirtied; white tank top not faring much better. The dark circles around his eyes even rivaled Sasha's. She was about to return to her breakfast when something caught her attention out of her peripheral. There was something…just the barest hint of _something_ around him that puzzled her. She didn't think it was there when she'd spotted him the day before at the diner. Had she been too far away? Was she so sleep deprived she was imagining things? She looked down at the gold band on her left ring finger. She'd left it on, feeling naked without it, even thought the rubies weren't much more than dust in the cemetery now. Or perhaps it was the ring, it had prevented her from seeing things clearly.

She glanced back to the blond for another look at the faded shimmer, only to meet his hard brown eyes instead.

"You want to take a fucking picture, lady?"

His tone was much more abrasive than his handsome, puppy-dog eyes had suggested. Knowing he was likely going through the hardest moment of his life what with a missing sister and all, she shrugged it off. She had, after all, been staring.

"Relax, blonds aren't my type,"

He snorted, shaking his head as a small smile made its way to his lips. It was tired, but it was a smile all the same. "I'm sorry I just—I'm Jason. Didn't mean to snap at you like that,"

"Common theme this morning," muttered Sam, glancing at Sasha. She narrowed her eyes playfully at him. A mug of coffee had already worked wonders on her mood, as had the food. She made a note of leaving a tip for the cook.

"Sasha," she said. She awkwardly dropped the hand she'd been about to extend, trying to pretend she was reaching for her napkin instead. She was sure both men noticed. But with whatever the hell strange energy was inside of her, she thought it best not to touch anyone.

"You new in town?" asked Jason as a plate of bacon, eggs, and grits was placed before him. "Haven't seen ya 'round,"

"My car broke down just out of town," said Sasha. For a second she squinted—nope, the aura-like thing was gone. Huh. "So I'm just around for it to get fixed and not a moment longer,"

"What, you don't like our little town? You a big city girl or something?" grinned Jason.

"The people seem great, but there's a…strange vibe," she said airily.

"You're right about that," said Jason, stabbing a piece of bacon with his fork unnecessarily hard. "Fucking vampires crawlin' everywhere—and the bad ones, we ain't got much of the good ones, 'cept Jess. People going crazy, people tearing out hearts—it's been a weird fucking year, man,"

Sasha pursed her lips, not quite sure he was entirely talking to her anymore. So even the residents knew something wasn't quite right about Bon Temps. There must be something about it that drew the strange; ley lines? Had some sort of mystic energy released, drawing others to it?

 _Nope, don't want to know. Take care of the newborn, and_ then _I get the hell out of Dodge._

* * *

True to her word, Patty had the Camaro up and running by ten o'clock that morning. After she picked it up, Sasha stopped by the gas station, filling up the tank and picking up a few cheap blankets. Next was the butcher's, where she picked up a gallon of pig's blood for "cooking". It certainly wouldn't be anything like the human blood the newborn would be craving, especially now that he had a taste of hers, but it would have to do. It was at least, Sasha though, better than Tru Blood. For now, the newborn would need proper, _natural_ blood.

Sasha parked the Camaro just outside the gates of the cemetery, humming to herself as she went around to the trunk. It was just minutes to sundown, and her self-entrusted charge would be up soon. He also posed a bit of a threat, and so she rooted around the trunk for the trick compartment she knew to be there, opening it and revealing the silver and wood stakes. She jammed a small stake into her jeans, then shut the trunk. She prayed she wouldn't need it, because she wasn't sure if she'd actually have it in her to use.

When the sun was passed the horizon, the earth started moving at Jack's grave. She leaned against the back of Drew Marshall's headstone, waiting for Jack to climb out once again. The look of shock at the sight of her nearly caused her to smile, and she held up the gallon of pig's blood.

"Thirsty?"

* * *

"That was kind of disgusting," said Jack, grimacing as he handed her the pig's blood. He hadn't drank much, but still more than she'd expected. "Your blood was so much better. Sorry," he quickly added sheepishly.

Sasha smiled at him, shaking her head. "You're forgiven. I'm not going to say don't worry about it, because you have to be very careful, but I'm still alive and in one piece so, all things considered, we're good. Just remember, others won't be so understanding,"

Jack nodded vigorously, glancing down at her. He was a thin boy, lanky really, and much taller than her. For a moment his eyes dropped to the vein at her neck—she could see he was almost mesmerized—then he screwed his eyes shut and looked away, a look of shame crossing his features.

"Why. Why do you understand? _How_ can you?" he asked.

Sasha stepped away a little to give him space, noting that he had stopped breathing. "I know a fair few vampires. Vampires are different; that doesn't make them— _you—_ bad,"

"But I bit you," he said regretfully. "I really hurt you. I could have—"

"But you didn't," Sasha said firmly. "You didn't and when you realized what you had done, you realized it was wrong. You have good instincts, and you're already showing tremendous amounts of self-control. Now come on, we'll get you cleaned up,"

But Jack stood his ground. "Why are you helping me? Is it because you're a—I don't know. What was that thing you did to me?"

"Because no one should go through this change alone. A parent should never leave their child, and the vampire that turned you should have been that to you. A parent." Said Sasha. "The rest isn't so easy to explain."

Jack was quiet after that, but he let her wrap him in a blanket and usher him to her car. She took him back to the motel, showing him to the shower and giving him the fresh clothes she'd bought earlier in the day. He'd looked incredibly vulnerable when he'd thanked her that and, when she heard him sob in the shower, she hoped they weren't only tears of despair he was shedding.

When Jack was clean and dressed, he perched on the edge of her bed, looking around curiously. While he did, Sasha decided that he was absolutely adorable. He was a beautiful boy, all lanky limbs and sweet, curling black hair. His blue eyes had an innocence she hoped he would never lose.

"He wasn't supposed to turn me," Jack said finally, quietly. "Peter."

It took him a while, but Jack was finally able to explain his story to her. He was seventeen—would forever be seventeen he realized as he introduced himself, and didn't have anyone. He'd bounced around foster homes all his life, and his most recent house hadn't been cruel like others had been, but the family had most neglected him, ignoring him even, interested in the checks they were paid to care for him but not in loving him.

"And so then, then I meet _him_ ,"

Sasha's heart broke with every word. Jack had met Peter one night when he'd been walking around aimlessly. Peter had chided him for being out so late, when the world was most dangerous. He'd walked Peter home and, during that time, had filled the darkness with brilliant stories of the many lifetimes he had lived. Over time, Jack had begun to live for nights, when he could sneak away to be with Peter, the older man and vampire that had begun to feel like a father figure.

Then one night Peter had asked to taste his blood. Jack had been all-too willing, eager to please this unlikely parent-like figure. He'd let Peter feed from him, and what begun as an occasional thing soon became routine, to the point that it was affecting his health and his foster family began to think he was on drugs.

"That's when they kicked me out," Jack admitted. "And I couldn't tell them the truth. So I went to find Peter. I thought, I though maybe I could live with him."

But Peter hadn't liked that, and in a fit of anger and a feeding frenzy, had attacked Jack. He had drained him and, when he'd realized what he'd done, turned him. But he hadn't hung around.

"He said he'd fixed his mistake, that I should be grateful," said Jack. "He said it was what I wanted all along, but it wasn't I swear it wasn't. I just wanted—"

He'd wanted a family. That resonated with Sasha so deeply her hands shook. Curling them into fists on her knees, she asked.

"And then he left?"

"No. Not, not then. First he said, he said _something,_ and then he was gone. And I was in so much pain—I just hurt for so long, and it was almost dawn and my skin started to blister so I burrowed back under ground. Then the next night, when I rose, I could still feel it. It's gone now, the pain, but I feel so, so…empty,"

The final piece of her heart shattered. "What did he say? What words did he say, Jack?"

Jack's brow furrowed. "He said, 'As your maker, I release you'. What does that mean, Sasha?"

Sasha's eyes fluttered shut. Not only had Jack's maker abandoned him to this new life, he'd Released him when the blood bond between maker and progeny was still fresh. There was no doubt in her mind that this Peter vampire was a monster.

"I'll explain everything to you. I just need to know something first, Jack. Do you know where Peter lived? What his last name was? Where he liked to hang out?"

Jack's eyes fell as he shook his head. "No. We always met at the park. But he did talk about a place a lot. He complained about it a lot, because…" Jack frowned. "It was so strange. He talked about a bar, but he said he had to go there every once in a while, that he didn't have a choice. And he mentioned a tax? That he did his taxes at this bar? No, that can't be right…"

But that sparked something in Sasha.

"That doesn't sound as crazy as you'd think, Jack. Do you remember the name of this bar?"

Jack glanced up at the ceiling, concentrating hard. "It was something kind of silly, kind of funny. It was obvious… Oh! I remember! Fangtasia. The bar's name is Fangtasia,"

"Then that's where we'll go."

* * *

Between the mortal and the immortal, it was the newborn vampire that was the most nervous about going to the vampire bar. Sasha filled the forty-minute drive by answering every question he had, though she skirted a few she thought might require more delicate explanation. He was so caught up in his own newfound vampirism that he didn't ask about her strange power again. But when he insisted, she explained what being Released meant. He was silent for a long moment after that. He was a kid that had been given up by his parents in his human life, and now forsaken by his vampire maker. She could imagine what he was thinking, and she hated it, because she'd been there before.

In her head she started making plans. There was a place for him in California, if he wanted it. Yes, she'd send him to Los Angeles, to the nest, where he would be properly taken care of and where, perhaps for the first time in his life, have a proper family. But first she'd take care of his would-be maker.

Sasha had a strong hunch that this vampire bar was owned by a Sheriff. It would make sense; Jack had mentioned taxes, and it was the duty of the Sheriffs of each Area to collect taxes for their monarchs and the Authority. Vampires in authority weren't exactly easy to deal with, especially considering she was a human, but she wasn't too worried. Under new AVL law, Peter had broken vampire law by turning an under-aged human. Worse, he'd abandoned the newborn, when Jack could have possibly lost all control and killed many. Now _that_ would certainly be something the AVL would consider a PR mess.

"Sasha, wait," called out Jack. He looked very shy, peering at her from over the Camaro. "How are you not freaking out right now?"

Sasha raised an eyebrow at him. "I know your thing is pretty big, but you never asked what _I_ was going in a cemetery from a town I'm not even from,"

Jack frowned, apparently realizing the same thing. "Um, what, what were you doing?"

"I was burning the remains of a ghost that tried to drown me," she told him easily. "Vampires at least have a rules and laws. Ghosts don't."

Stunned, Jack followed after her as they approached the bar. The line was incredibly long and unmobing, and she had no intention of waiting in it. They were burning night, and there was no telling how long the Sheriff would make them wait once inside, if they even decided to see them. Sasha tapped Jack's elbow.

"Come on,"

"What? Wait, Sasha—the line!"

She ignored Jack, striding instead right up to the bouncer. The tall, striking blonde was clearly vampire, and as they had vampire business and not partying to get to, Sasha had no qualms about skipping up the line.

"Well _hello_ brown sugar," purred the vampire. Sasha's eyebrow lifted as she stared back at the vampire. Apparently, tall, blue-eyed vampires where in abundance in these parts. Over her shoulder Jack was a nervous ball of energy. She ignored the complaints behind her that they'd skipped the line. "I like you think you're cute enough to just skip the line. Hmm," she smirked, looking over Sasha. "You just might be,"

"Here's my ID, and he's dead," Sasha said shortly, handing over her driver's license. As the vampire carefully looked over the ID, Sasha continued. "We're here for an audience with the Sheriff. I hear he does business here,"

The vampire's eyes flicked to her, and for a moment her blue eyes couldn't hide her surprise. She hid it quickly, handing back Sasha's ID.

"This _is_ the Sheriff's business," said the vampire. She dragged her eyes over her suggestively. "And he doesn't take walk-ins. Although, just this once he might make an exception for _you_ , hot chocolate,"

Sasha still wasn't impressed with the nicknames, even if the gorgeous vampire's scrutiny ordinarily would have been enough to make her blush. Tonight she'd just been through too much. "Where do I find him?"

Vampire Barbie's lips curled into a smirk. "Oh, you can't miss him, sugar,"

Sasha stepped into the club with Jack close behind, suddenly feeling like she'd stepped into the lion's den.

* * *

Eric was, for the lack of a better term, bored. His recent life had been a string of excitement—Fae, revenge, death, blood, hell, a fucking maenad—and now nothing. Now it was his club, night in and night out, and the most exciting thing had been when he'd thrown out a vampire last week for feeding on a human.

For once, even sitting on his throne didn't bring him the usual satisfaction. He used to love sitting in that chair, looking over the little empire he'd built from what the Magister had tried to punish him with. He had loved Fangtasia and he still had, but now he longed for something else to fill his time with, some knew toy to amuse him. His eyes landed on a stripper—a new hire—and he resolved that she was as good as it was going to get tonight. He was about to curl a finger in her direction when _she_ walked in.

She was dressed in all black tonight, and the way she strode into his club in those form-fitting black jeans and that simple t-shirt made her look unfairly delicious. The golden tones in her brown hair picked up the colors from the strobes, illuminating her like a delicious little treat.

Eric hadn't expected to see her again, though a strong part of him had hoped, feeling that they could have had enormous potential for a night in bed. He watched her now scan the club—was it possible she was searching for him?—when he realized she was not alone. A boy was behind her, vampire, and from the way that he carried himself, Eric could guess quite young.

He saw the exact moment her eyes landed on him. Surprise filtered there and then, Eric thought, unease Her gaze returned to the young vampire, and Eric saw that hisfeatures were contorted in pain, hands over his ears. When she leaned in and whispered something in his ear, Eric listened in, too. She was telling him how to shut out all the sounds but the ones that mattered so he wouldn't be overwhelmed.

Who the hell was this Sasha girl?

When she looked up again, Eric gestured for her to come forward and she did, the vampire boy following behind her dutifully though he was looking around curiously, perhaps a little eagerly now that he wasn't so overwhelmed by the explosion of sound.

"And so we meet again," said Eric once she stood before him.

" _Sheriff_ Eric Northman," she said, dipping her head respectfully. The gesture surprised him even more than her appearance in his club, and his curiosity threatened to get the best of him when she hissed somewhat exasperatedly, " _Jack_ ,"

Jack, as it appeared the young vampire was named, had been staring at him in awe. Eric was sure that he was feeling the power radiating off of him, that instinct was telling him that even as a predator, he was currently a mere cub before an alpha. At Sasha's hiss, the vampire started, and he too dipped his head awkwardly.

"Um, Mister—er, Sheriff Northman," the boy said quickly.

Eric stared at the young vampire for a moment longer, then his eyes returned to Sasha.

"Imagine my surprise to see you here in my club," he told her. "More car troubles?

Sasha shook her head, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. "Imagine my surprise I'd unwittingly hitchhiked with a Sheriff," she told him. She looked about the club, and he could see her registering the vampires in the room.

"Shérif _,_ " she said, her sudden turn to French piquing his interest. "On m'a dit que vous n'êtes que sur rendez-vous, mais il y a des questions urgentes et delicates à discuter. Voulez-vous nous épargner un moment pour nous?"

He considered her request for longer than was necessary. He'd made up his mind the second she'd asked to speak to him privately. An urgent and delicate matter to discuss? Well wasn't that just the icing on the cake.

Eric rose, nimbly buttoning his suit jacket. Then he extended a hand in the direction of his office.

"Follow me."

* * *

 **SO! What do you guys think of Jack? The Bon Temps regulars, like Sam and Jason? A HUGE thanks to those who reviewed, those things keep me going through the stress and chaos of my life more than you know! The next chapter has a lot of Eric in it, and depending on interest/my own motivation I might get that out this weekend as well! 3**

 *****So much love and hopeful thoughts to anyone affected by the terrible things going on in the world, here in the US but also abroad, such as the Caribbean, India, and those in Mexico and Guatemala where similar tragedies are occurring. If you can donate, donate, if you can't, try to spread awareness and be mindful of others*****


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Power Play**

Eric Northman's office was rather bare, and it wasn't anything like the kitschy, gaudy club, nor was it marked by the indulgence she knew his car to be. Slowly she began to put together bits and pieces to form a mosaic of the vampire.

Already she was familiar with his name. She'd heard stories of him from a very enthusiastic vampire admirer of his back on Los Angeles. She wasn't sure how truthful the stories of his strength and brutality were, but as a historian, Sasha knew that even the most outlandish tale had some granule of truth to it. What she knew for certain was that she was standing in the same room as the only known living Viking. She knew he was over a thousand years old and therefore not only her superior in strength and speed but that of every creature likely for miles, if not the state, and she'd hazard that he was also very intelligent and very cunning. Few vampires made it to his age if they were anything but.

Next Sasha considered what she knew from her own experience. He was capable of being standoffish and very sarcastic, but also of being charming. He possessed a sense of humor, drove a flashy car outfitted with every upgrade available, and yet his office was surprisingly sparse and efficient. Looking around, she saw that there wasn't a single piece of fancy or antique, heavyweight furniture, no excessive show of wealth in the form of priceless artifacts or invaluable artwork on the walls. Instead the office appeared to contain only what it needed; a computer and copious amounts of paperwork, racks of merchandise from the gift shop and inventory from the bar. There were only two pieces of something personal in the whole room she could immediately spot, and that was two photographs. One was of Eric and the blonde vampire from the door, and it looked to be somewhat dated judging by their clothes and hair. The second one was of a drawing of a Viking boat. The first picture led Sasha to believe that the blonde vampire was either his lover or progeny or both, and the second revealed nothing new.

All in all, Sasha guessed that Eric had a place either in Shreveport or in the outskirts of the city he considered home, somewhere safe and somewhere he kept his personal possessions. Her second conclusion was that the stories about Eric's reputation probably weren't for show. If this was where he conducted business, he didn't feel the need for a showy, outwardly expression of his wealth and power. _He_ was enough for all that.

As Eric took a seat behind his desk and gestured for them to sit, Sasha saw that she'd been caught looking. Eric appeared likewise unabashed with his staring.

In French, he asked her, " _How old are you?_ "

There was no use in lying or trying to avoid the answer. Sasha thought there would be plenty of that later, and that wasn't a detail she felt would give him any leverage over her anyway.

" _Twenty-four, Sheriff,"_

Whatever he thought, he didn't reveal, and his eyes flickered momentarily to Jack. " _You were right. I'm typically by appointment only, unless there's an emergency. So?_ "

Jack cleared his throat, realizing he was being talked about, but in the dark as to what was being said. Sasha flashed him an apologetic smile.

"He wants to know why we're here," said Sasha.

Quickly, she told Eric everything—everything but the encounter with Drew Marshall's ghost and the accidental magic she'd cast. His eyes remained intently on her all the while, and it took all her skill to remain cool and collected, to appear like she wasn't hiding anything at all. His eyes were still on her when Jack filled in his side of the story, at least until he got to the part of being Released.

"He did what?" Eric asked lowly.

"H-He released me," Jack said nervously, eyes straying back to Sasha.

"Don't look at her. Look at me," Eric said firmly.

"He Released me," repeated Jack. "I didn't know what it meant until Sasha explained it to me. I didn't know anything until she taught me,"

Eric took in a deep breath, looking a mixture of angry and deeply bored, like he couldn't believe his night had been disrupted for such a disaster. It remained silent, the office filled only with the thud of music from the club, its vibrato soft enough it wasn't distracting, but strong enough it danced across Sasha's skin. She could feel Jack's festering anxiety beside her, and she had to force herself not to reach out for his hand.

A moment later the office door opened and the blonde in latex came sauntering in, a hand on her cocked hip. Seeing Sasha, she winked.  
"Told you he'd see you," she said. Then, to Eric, "You called?"

That confirmed Sasha's suspicion, or at least half of it. She was at the very least his progeny.

"Pam, this is Jack. Take him to the bar for a Tru Blood,"

Pam's perfectly arched eyebrow sprang up, blue eyes swimming with apparent interest as her eyes darted between Sasha and Jack. She licked her lips and said something to Eric. Sasha detected the lilt of a question to her tone, but the Swedish was lost to her.

"Pamela," Eric said shortly. Pam clicked her tongue, casting a final look at Sasha as she sauntered out of the room with a walk a supermodel could envy. Jack looked to Sasha for approval; she nodded.

Silence prevailed in the office as the two vampires left, filled only with the pulse of the music down the hall. She did not falter under his gaze, careful not to let the power shift fully into his hands. He might be at the advantage as the Sheriff and powerful vampire in the room, but she wasn't just any human. She had a few tricks up her sleeve that although she'd rather not reveal, she would to get what she wanted. Her phone felt heavier in her pocket all of a sudden, like the reminder of the dangerous power a single phone call could enact.

"What were you doing in that cemetery? You're not from the area, so it's not like you had family to visit,"

Internally, Sasha cursed. The way he asked made it clear that he did not believe in mere coincidences. She either had to lie extremely convincingly, or she had to tell him the truth.

 _Or,_ thought Sasha, _or you can do a little of both._

"There aren't a lot of interesting places in Bon Temps," she began, casually laying the bait.

"So you happened to visit the one place an orphaned newborn vampire was buried?" asked Eric. His fingers tapped against the flat top of his desk. "Forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe,"

"I have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Trust me, you're not the only one to have noticed," said Sasha. "I went to the cemetery because I heard it was haunted,"

"And you believed these rumors?"

"Not really. But a waitress from that place you dropped me off at, Merlotte's? Well she swore her ex-husband was haunting her. Every wife with a dead ex-husband says that. But rumor had it that he wasn't just some guy, but a serial killer…" Sasha shrugged. "I got curious,"

She hoped he'd buy it, in any case. He knew she hung around vampires, and now she implied that she found enjoyment in perusing cemeteries for serial killer's graves and possible hauntings. Hopefully he'd write her off as an average girl with a predilection for the gothic and morbid, nothing farfetched for a human that found themselves entangled with vampires.

Eric hummed in response, looking somewhat unconvinced, but not like he didn't believe her, either. He rose quickly, coming to lean against the desk before her. For a moment his long, lean legs distracted her. She gasped when he leaned in suddenly, so close to her that his nose teased the skin of her neck. The hair on her body rose at the unexpected and sensual feel of him so intimately close, and she stood stock still as he breathed in her scent. When he pulled back, the ring of blue in his eyes was far thinner than it had been seconds ago.

"I don't smell another vampire on you."

"You wouldn't," she told him. "I'm neither claimed nor am I bonded to one,"

"And yet you know so much about vampires. You're comfortable around us. Who are you?"

This meeting with the Sheriff was quickly veering off her intended course, partly because just looking at him made her blood sing in her veins and a coil tighten and flex in her belly, and partly because he was far too interested in her when she wanted to get Jack taken care of.

"Sheriff, I'd appreciate it if we could return to our business,"

Eric folded his arms across his chest, and with the way that the fabric of his suit jacket pulled taught against his muscles, she thought the move was entirely deliberate. Her jaw tightened. He might have been a walking sin, but if he thought she was more interested in fucking vampires than getting justice for the newborn at the bar, he had completely misjudged her.

"Which is?"

"I thought that was obvious," said Sasha. She had to fight to keep her tone calm, but it was impossible to keep a hint of malice out of it. "The vampire that turned Jack, this Peter, I want him punished,"

An unexpected emotion crossed Eric right then: amusement. Light and color returned to his eyes, and this time a low chuckle escaped him as he leaned back to grip the edge of his desk. "Oh, you want him punished. That's very cute, princess,"

"Peter broke vampire law. Not only did he turn an under age human against his will—to cover his own tracks might I add, for illegally feeding on him—but he then Released a fledgling vampire without giving him any tools for survival. You might not care about Jacks' life, but Jack could have killed quite a few humans and damaged everything the AVL has worked to achieve. As a Sheriff it's your duty to—"

Eric's growl of warning cut her off. "Tread carefully. Are you really going to tell me how to do my job?"

"That depends," Sasha said coolly, even as a tornado of flame-like fury built in her chest. Every intention of remaining collected and cool was burnt to ash. "Do you need a reminder?"

His hand was wrapped around her throat in an instant, not tight enough to constrict her breathing, but hard enough she winced as his fingers pressed against the bruises Drew Marshall's ghost had left behind. She focused for a second on the extended fangs just millimeters from her mouth.

"I don't know what kind of vampires you're used to, but you'll not speak to me that way simply because you're a fuckable little treat in a tight skirt. Understood?" His voice was deceptively soft, and yet there was no mistaking the threat there, the promise of punishment.

That thrum of power and raw energy was building up beneath her skin once again at his threat, and she quickly batted it down, not wanting the purple light to make reappearance. She wasn't willing to try to explain something she didn't fully understand yet, much less reveal something that was likely to get her neck snapped right then and there. And that was best-case scenario.

"I swear you smell better by the second," murmured Eric, his eyes searching hers. His cool breath tickled her lips like the tiny pinpricks of falling snowflakes.

"Let. Go," she told him.

Eric stared at her long and hard for another moment. Then he did release her, though she got the understood that he'd released her because he was done with her, not because she'd demanded he do so. The phone in her pocket buzzed, signaling an incoming text. Eric ignored it, but she was reminded again that a single phone call and she'd have a bargaining chip. But her hands remained in her lap, unwilling to give up so easily.

"This matters to you. Why?" asked Eric.

"Because I have a fucking heart," said Sasha. "Jack died and came back vampire against his will. His maker has abandoned him. That's not right."

* * *

Abandoned.

Abandoned.

 _Abandoned._

The word kept repeating itself in Eric's head long after Sasha and the newborn had gone, and long after he'd taken to his throne once again. The usual mass of dancers, human and vampire, became a silent moving corpus as he contemplated the curly haired girl. She'd been incredibly poised, allowing him to see only what she wanted him to see, careful to contain and curb her emotions. Mostly she was successful, but her mistake had come when she'd used the word 'abandoned' rather than Released. For that brief moment, Eric had a window into Sasha Buckley. He was certain now that at some point in her youth, she had been abandoned by either one or both parents. Perhaps she'd rebelled by falling in with vampires—it didn't really matter at this point, because she'd been right. A vampire in his territory had broken law, and he wasn't ever one to let such a thing slide.

That didn't stop his growing curiosity for the girl.

"Who was she?" asked Pam, coming to stand by his side. "She smelled divine, Eric. You should have convinced her to stay after _business_ was conducted,"

"If I had, I wouldn't have shared," muttered Eric. Pam scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Your old age is making you greedy and selfish. I miss the days we'd share a girl," she told him. He quirked an eyebrow.

"I believe the last time I expressed interest in sharing a human was '84," said Eric. "And you shut me down,"

"Yeah, well," said Pam. "Progeny do as progeny see."

He laughed.

* * *

"What's going to happen to me?" asked Jack they drove back to Bon Temps. Sasha glanced at him. She reached up to tousle her curls, realizing her mistake too lake. The motion swirled her scent around the Camaro, and she saw his fingers curl against his knees, his mouth press into a tight line as his teeth ground against each other.

She casually reached for the window dial. A blast of fresh, cold night air filled the car, washing over them and replacing her scent.

"You won't be going through this alone, kid. We'll get you sorted," She promised him.

"Thanks Sasha—I don't know what I would have done—actually I do," Jack muttered darkly. "I wasn't going to sit in the ground again. I would've just waited for sunrise,"

Sasha glanced his way sadly. "I promise it'll get better, Jack. This has been a terrible experience, I know, but being a vampire isn't all bad. Actually, there's never been a better time than now to be vampire. You'll see."

* * *

For her third morning in a row, Sasha Buckley was sitting in a red-cushioned stool at Merlotte's for the breakfast special. Her hair was thrown up in a messy knot because she'd been too lazy to get it untangled, and she was dressed simply in a crème colored linen romper. As always, her Doc Martens were on her feet, and she'd gone as far as putting on a light layer of make up in an effort to prove to the citizens of Bon Temps that she wasn't a complete freak.

She'd also needed to blend foundation down to her neck, where she was sporting a few more bruises. While Eric's hand wrapped around her throat wasn't as terrible as Drew Marshall's attempt at murdering her, she was ready to not have a hand wrapped around her throat for a very long while.

"Back again, huh?" asked Sam Merlotte, refilling her mug of coffee. He'd been in late earlier in the morning, rushing in with an apology to his staff about his morning run being extended. Sasha had, with difficulty, restricted the urge to inquire whether his morning run consisted of clothing or not.

"Am I a local yet?"

Sam grinned, leaning on his forearms as she methodically devoured her plate. She could have sworn that, for just a quick second, Sam had _sniffed_ her. She didn't mention it, mostly because if Sam turned out to be some kind of freak—and there was a good chance he was—he likely still wasn't the strangest thing around the small town.

"I get the feeling you're around for more than just breakfast," he said.

"Right you are," she said, nodding. She took a large sip of coffee to wash down the mouthful of hash browns she was nearly choking on. "I'll be sticking around for a little while longer. Earl is nice but his motel is not. Know of any place that can be rented out for a few weeks?"

She didn't miss his hesitation, but then Sam smiled. "Yeah, actually, you're at the right place. I have a few properties in town I rent out. Thing is, the only place that might currently be suited, that's on a month-by-month lease situation,"

"You take cash?" asked Sasha. Again, she saw that he was conflicted, and he wondered what it was specifically about her that made him so weary. She didn't think she came across as mistrustful; she liked to think she was the opposite. Sasha had often been told she was quite charming.

"Yeah, yeah I take cash," Sam finally said. They worked out the details—utilities were included in the rent, which was a whopping six-hundred dollars. Sasha had laughed at that; a two-bedroom, one bathroom bungalow in LA would have cost _at least_ three times that. For all of his reservations—whatever they might be—Sam was very nice to her, leaving the bar in Arlene's capable hands and driving over to the house with her so she could get situated right away.

It was a small bungalow that looked to be recently renovated, cute and very small town. It was pained a deep reddish brown, and had white trim around it. Although the décor was just awful, the inside was just what she needed and nothing more, and Sam explained that it was last on the list of places he was currently upgrading and doing work. She assured him it as all very fine, and when he left her with the keys and his number should she need anything, she set to work. She'd contemplated asking if he had a problem with a vampire for a tenant, but then again he hadn't exactly asked to run a background check on her, and she told herself she'd cross that bridge when she got to it. Or possibly burn it down, as it were.

The larger of the two bedroom was the one better equipped to being made light-tight, as it had one large window as opposed to the two the other had. She found a tape measure under the sink and measured out the window, jotting down the measurements. She spent the rest of the morning and afternoon buying the supplies she needed—groceries for her and Tru Blood for Jack, as well as heavy duty supplies for Jack's bedroom. Eoin had taught her a few years ago how to make an emergency light-tight room, and she finally put the knowledge to good use.

She wasn't sure how long she'd be sticking around Bon Temps, but she didn't want to leave Jack, and he couldn't leave until the situation with Peter was cleared up. Eric Northman had made that clear, though she had the nagging suspicion that the order to stay in his Area had also extended to her.

When the sun started to sink below the horizon, Sasha drove over to the cemetery. Jack had been given the option of staying at Eric Northman's club in a cushy coffin, but the newborn vampire had been incredibly intimidated by the other vampires, so much so that he'd preferred to bury himself in the ground another night. Sasha had the feeling that, imposing as the Sheriff had been; it had been his time with his progeny, Pam that had cemented these feelings for Jack. She wasn't sure what had been said at the bar, but Jack had returned whiter than he already was.

As day melted into night in an explosion of color on the western horizon, Sasha found herself staring at Drew Marshall's grave. Although the rectangular patch of dirt she'd dug up three nights ago was still disturbed, it was showing signs of settling once again, tiny shoots visible in the grass. That was a good sign; the grass had been dead while Drew Marshall's ghost had been haunting their plane.

Jack dug himself free of his shallow grave, though this night it was in far better spirits than any other time as he came over to her and accepted the big blanket she offered. As he brushed dirt out of his hair, he asked her what the plan was.

"I got us a place in town," said Sasha. "Which means you have an actual light-tight room and won't have to sleep in a grave again. We'll finesse other details when we're comfortable and somewhere private,"

"Cool," said Jack as they trooped back to the house. "This is going to sound a little weird, but I don't mind sleeping in a grave all that much. Being all dirty sucks, but… I don't know. It was kind of comforting,"

"It's not weird at all," Sasha told him as they got into the Camaro. "Especially so close to your turn. The dark, small space… instinct tells you it's safe,"

"Huh," said Jack thoughtfully. He remained quiet for a while as she drove them, his eyes drinking in the world around them with interest. She could tell that, as he adapted to his new situation, he was starting to take interest and perhaps, even an appreciation for the new senses he had.

"Holy shit!"

That was his exclamation when she parked in the driveway of the rental property, his eyes going wide as he took in the house. "This is really, really nice, Sasha!"

Given her mode of living in the last decade or so, Sasha thought that _quaint_ was a far better word. Still, she smiled at the young vampire all the same and ushered him inside. It wasn't until she showed him to his room that he started to cry.

"I'm sorry," he quickly sniffled, hiding his bloodstained cheeks from her ashamedly. "I-I've never had my own room before,"

Sasha looked around the room; it wasn't anything special, furnished with the things Sam had already had in it. This room had a queen-sized bed with atrocious yellow sheets—Sasha had made a note of removing them immediately, then reminded herself this was all extremely temporary—and a night stand, a small bookcase with a few old comics, and a small closet. She'd added a mini-fridge she'd collected from the local hardware store that afternoon, and it was now filled with Tru Blood.

"You're going to be leading a very different life from now on, Jack," said Sasha. "But it doesn't mean it has to be a bad thing. You can choose to treat this as a second chance at a better life on your terms,"

Jack looked a little dubious about that, but he nodded all the same. She told him to go on and take a shower, and then retreated to the living room.

* * *

Jack emerged from the bathroom half an hour later clean and with his long black hair still wet, dressed in a pair of black sweats she'd bought him. He thanked her profusely for the clothes—it was really only a pack of plain t-shirts, a pack of boxers, a pair of sweats and a pair of jeans—and she in turn told him to worry about it, that they'd go shopping as soon as he was ready to go out in public.

"I um," he suddenly turned very shy and, if he'd had a pulse, she was certain his cheeks would have turned very red. "I don't have any money,"

"Don't worry about that," said Sasha as she dug through her bag for a pen and the notebook she'd picked up earlier. "You're covered,"

"By who? You?" asked Jack, suddenly agitated. He was pacing before the couch in the next second, tension in his shoulders strong. She felt a spike of energy in her, instinct warning her that an agitated newborn could be very dangerous. Even so she forced herself to appear calm, not wanting to offend or set Jack off.

"This is all just, it's just a little too good to be true, you know? Last time anyone was this nice to me, well, he killed me," exclaimed Jack. "And I'm sorry, I really am, but I don't get why you're so nice to me, why you're spending money on me, why you're standing up to vampire Sheriffs for me—it just doesn't make any sense! I don't even get why you know so much about vampires if you're not one! And what about that weird light, huh? What are you? Don't think I've forgotten about that!"

She waited until he'd walked off some of his distress before answering. It was unfair to demand that Jack trust her—especially after everything that he'd been through with the foster system and then Peter. He might have latched onto her and spilled his life story when they'd first met, but he'd been emotionally distressed. Now that he was able to sort through his feeling and thoughts a little bit better, that the world was starting to spin at a more reasonable rate, all of his fears and suspicions were catching up. If he was going to trust her, she was going to have to trust him.

"I know it's unfair to ask you to trust me, especially with everything you've been through. I promise that I will try very hard to earn your trust, Jack," she told him.

"But why?!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "I—I'm a monster now, but I'm nothing special, just like I wasn't anything special before! I'm just Jack! People didn't care about me when I was human—what the hell difference does me being dead have? I bet you no one is even looking for me!"

"Jack, I'm going to trust you and then, I hope, with time, you can trust me," she told him. He looked a little unconvinced, but he nodded and took a seat on the armchair across from her. Sasha placed the notepad in her hand on the coffee table; she'd intended to gather as much information from Jack about Peter as she could, but this seemed more important before they could move forward.

"I'm listening," he said. His blue eyes were weary as he watched her intently.

Sasha drew in a deep breath. "To answer one of your questions, I know vampires so well because I was raised by them."

* * *

 **Big thanks to those who read/reviewed/favorited/followed!**

 **Post Chapter Commentary:**

 **I'm really glad you guys liked Jack! He was never a part of the original draft (the original draft I started in like Feb/Mar of this year, which is sooo different than what we have here! It's been fun combining the old idea with this new one, and I'm learning to kill my darlings-there are parts and lines from the first draft I want to add that just don't make sense in this draft, so oh well. I like this character development better anyhow.**

 **If you think this story is to oc-centric, two things: 1. It won't always be that way. I have a lot of plans for the other characters of the series, and fun ways to incorporate them here. BUT that leads to 2. I want to lead into all of that organically. Part I of this story takes place when Sookie is in Fae-i.e. it's between seasons, but after that it'll somewhat follow season 4. That being said, it won't follow the season too much bc i don't see the point of writing something we've all already seen. Where's the fun in that?!**

 **What's your favorite quote from the series? It's hard to pick, but one of my faves is Pam's: "Let's let bygones be bygones, bi girls be bi girls". LOL**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Origin**

 _4 July 1996_

 _Her small hand brushed the beads of perspiration that had collected on her forehead as Sasha Buckley carefully wrapped the turquoise sequin scarf around the top of her head. A massive heat wave was terrorizing Las Vegas, but she'd learned earlier that week that not wearing the makeshift headscarf raked in fewer customers. Tourists found the idea of a child psychic absolutely adorable ("Gee, and when I was your age all I could think up was a lemonade stand!") and the better she fit their idea of a psychic, the more money she made. Her eyes helped too; she'd learned at five how to explain Heterochromia (even though she couldn't quite pronounce it) and that other children noted her one gold eye and one green eye and moved on. It was the adults that couldn't stop staring, couldn't stop wondering about it. Adults were funny like that. Lately she'd taken to marketing her gold eye as her "inner eye", after one of the men in high heels that stood on the corner of where she was staying at suggested it. Candi was full of good advice, and had even been kind enough to gift her the scarf she wore on her head._

 _Sasha didn't like Las Vegas. It was useless and ugly during the day, and strange and dangerous in the night. Adults on the Strip forgot themselves; it was like when night fell and they stepped out in their glitzy all sense of propriety evaporated._

 _"Prop-ri-ety," Sasha annunciated. Candi had taught her that word._

 _She pinched her cheeks a little and then smoothed out the fuchsia dress she wore. She'd found it on the street just a few mornings ago—that was another thing about the adults around here, they couldn't seem to keep track of their clothes—and Candi had helped her cut it to fit her and given her lots of plastic gold jewelry to accessorize._

 _All dressed, Sasha exited the bathroom of the little diner she had gotten changed in. Mercy, one of the waitresses, grinned at her._

 _"You got time for a milkshake, kid? On the house," she promised. Like Candi, Mercy was very nice, always sneaking her food from the kitchens and making her milkshakes. She wore too much make up, but Sasha had caught a glimpse of why in the diner bathroom. Mercy was always covered in bruises. Mercy had cried a little when Sasha had seen them, and though Sasha didn't really understand why, and had tried to make her feel better by gifting her a tube of lip gloss._

 _"Can't. Have to go to work," said Sasha._

 _"All right, working girl. How much to go?" asked Mercy, cocking a hip on her sun-yellow uniform._

 _"Another two hundred dollars at least," said Sasha._

 _"Hmm," said Mercy thoughtfully. "Well, think you wanna read my palm? I'll give you…" Mercy fished around the front pocket of her apron. "I'll give you eight bucks for it,"_

 _"Eight bucks and that milkshake and you have a deal," said Sasha. Mercy laughed, waving her over to a free table._

 _"Okay, okay," she said excitedly, placing the back of her hand flat on the table. "What's in my future, kid?"_

 _Sasha, of course, couldn't really see the future. Mercy knew that, just like Candi did. It was all make believe—usually tourists wanting to know if they'd make it big, what their lucky numbers would be. One night she'd given a tourist their 'lucky number' and he'd hit the jackpot. He'd found her after and given her five dollar to thank her. That had also been the night she learned people were assholes._

 _Still, there were other times when Sasha touched people and she saw more than either of them bargained for. Sometimes she would get feelings, sometimes a clear picture. It didn't always mean anything, but sometimes it frightened her, because people hid dirty, ugly things under their skin._

 _Carefully, Sasha took Mercy's hand._

 _"So?" asked Mercy with a little laugh. "Is some beautiful, rich, fabulous man gonna come sweep me off my feet or what?"_

 _"You're pregnant."_

 _Mercy stared at her in shock, and Sasha blinking rapidly. She hadn't even formed the thought before her mouth had spoken for her. Mercy snatched her hand away, reaching up to fluff her curls. It was shaking._

 _"Um, look, come by another time for that shake. It's a night,"_

 _Mercy hurried away, zigzagging through empty tables, leaving Sasha in the corner booth._

 _"Hey! You forgot my eight dollars!"_

* * *

"Was she really pregnant?" asked Jack.

"Yeah, she was," said Sasha. "And when her boyfriend found out, he killed her."

" _What_?" exclaimed Jack. "Why?"

"Because it wasn't his. And he knew it wasn't his because he was a vampire," Sasha said grimly. She curled her legs under her, falling back against the couch cushions. The pliant brown leather hugged her as she sank into it. "He heard the heartbeat not long after I sensed the life in her."

"That's terrible," said Jack. "Wait, you were eleven? Wasn't this before the Great Revelation?"

"Yeah, this was '96. There have always been human companions in the know, but it was becoming very popular to have 'kept humans'. Monogamous relationships with humans that were always glamored to forget what they knew unless they were with their vampire, which is terrible. Being glamored that much really takes its toll on the human brain," she explained. "So when Mercy went missing, Candi and I started to investigate—"

"Oh my god," interrupted Jack. "So you've always been like this? Making other people's problem your problem?"

Sasha shrugged, picking at a crack in the couch leather. It had been badly stitched, and she could just picture Sam Merlotte attempting to fix it himself. "She was in a really bad place. Poor girl thought she was losing her mind—she knew her boyfriend was abusing her, didn't know he was a vampire during the day because of the glamor, and couldn't remember how she was always covered in bruises and sometimes worse, but somehow knew it was her boyfriend… still, she helped me when she could. Kept me fed, let me crash in the back of the diner most nights. It was '96 and Vegas; no one cared about a homeless girl. The Strip was a mess, and humans didn't even know what the real danger was,"  
"Vampires," said Jack.

"It was perfect. Drunk idiots everywhere—it was perfect for business, but also for feeding. I knew I wasn't normal, but I didn't know vampires existed either. Then I met one,"

"The psycho boyfriend?" asked Jack, wide-eyed.

"No, actually. I…bumped…into one outside of the casino I was working at," said Sasha. "I ended up on his radar after that, and when I ended up in trouble with Mercy's boyfriend, he sort of came to my rescue. He and the vampire he was traveling with, Malachi, took me in after that. Malachi realized what I was, because he'd interacted with my kind before," she explained. She paused to allow him to process all that she had said. It certainly wasn't an ordinary tale to tell, and it was the first time she'd ever told anyone else about it. After reunited with her father after she'd turned eighteen, she'd told him some of it, but that had been an extremely edited version. Vampires hadn't come out until nearly three years after that. No, the only people that knew her story were those that it involved, and she preferred it that way. Secrets like hers had power, and she kept them locked tight.

Jack chewed on his bottom lip for a long while, nodding slowly. Then he froze, eyes furtively glancing up at her.

"Not to be rude or anything," said Jack. "But, um, _what_ are you, exactly?"

And there it was, the very question Sasha dreaded answering. She hated saying the word, simply because it was an omission of everything about herself that she denied. Bringing it up was a stark reminder of everything she had spent the last decade and a half repressing.

She took a deep breath, and then she told him her truth.

* * *

When Eric arrived at Fangtasia, he was pleased to find that his human PI had used the past day usefully, just as he had instructed. On his desk sat a file of the girl, Sasha, and after he fed from and fucked one of this new hires, he pulled it to him to study. Fangtasia wouldn't open for hours, and he was able to lounge in his office in little more than his silk robe and a pair of track pants.

It was a quick and easy read, and by the time he was through with it, his beautiful progeny came strutting in, showing off a new glitzy dress that distracted him for a moment. Silver had never looked so deadly.

"I though you were over sparkly things," said Eric, the hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Change your mind so soon?"

"I was, but then I found this Yudashkin in the back of my closet and realized I just look too fuckin' good to quit glitzy mini dresses. Wouldn't you agree?"

It was a rhetorical question, because they both knew she was always fabulous, but he agreed that she looked stunning anyway, showering her with a few more compliments than usual. He noted the sheer pleasure she took from then, even though she tried to downplay it, rolling her eyes coyly as he noticed she'd dyed her hair and trimmed it a bit.

The truth of it all, Eric was regretful to realize, he had somewhat managed to make the colossal mistake of allowing his interest in Sookie Stackhouse come between him and his progeny. He didn't know of a more loyal progeny, and yet he was loath to admit that since the perky blonde telepath had wandered into his life, he hadn't been treating Pamela very well. He'd had become dismissive of her.

Now Sookie Stackhouse was gone, disappeared to who knew where—he had his suspicions, based on the too-sweet scent that lingered in the driveway of her house—and he was certain that she would return, but now he was focused on mending his mistakes with Pam. She would, in the end, always come first no matter what he felt for another woman.

He certainly wasn't allowing another pretty, perky human girl become his next obsession. The file before him was merely his precaution side winning out, a testament to what a good Sheriff he was, one that checked up on strange and suspicious hitchhikers traveling through his Area.

That was all.

"I actually came in to tell you that the next time you decide to fuck the ability to walk out of one of our dancers, do it on a night she isn't supposed to be working," admonished Pam, perching on the edge of his desk. Her eyes narrowed. "That looks like a dossier. Tell me its not on that little chocolate chip's,"

Eric's lips quirked in amusement—he didn't have to know Sasha Buckley very well to imagine the indignant, dirty little look she would shoot his progeny at being referred to as _little chocolate chip_. Though, to be fair to Pamela, the girl was dwarfed by either vampire, and from what he heard, the dark treat was delicious and smooth, both adjectives he'd used to describe Sasha.

"It is," said Eric. "Something about her, her scent, her knowledge of vampires and our ways…it's off. For an unattached human, she knows to much."

"Here we fucking go again. Just when I'm rid of the fucking fairy, you pick up a new obsession. Can't you just be a normal vampire and bleed and fuck her out of your system?" asked Pam haughtily. "It's less trouble that way."

"This isn't that, Pam," he assured her. They both knew he was referring to Sookie. He raked a hand through his blond hair; he'd missed his long locks for the longest time, but he was starting to appreciate the GQ look.

"Sure, Eric," drawled Pam. She nodded to file. "So? Anything fascinating enough to warrant your interest?"

"Nothing in particular," said Eric, leaning back in his chair. The supple leather took his weight easily, molding to his frame. "Her name is Sasha Buckley, she wasn't lying about that. She's twenty-four years old, and she's a resident of California, but she was born in DC. Her birthday is in December,"

"You're keeping Jacob Ames on payroll for _that_?"

"She has a Master's degree in history, and is on the mailing list for all your favorite magazines. She appears to have had a lively social life in Los Angeles—mostly after dark,"

Eric pushed the dossier to Pam, allowing her to see the printed photos there. They were all of Sasha Buckley at different events, things like openings for restaurants and clubs, designer bashes and events.

"So she was some sort of z-lister," said Pam, checking over the shoes. "Who isn't in LA?" She picked up a photo, squinting at some detail. She looked the rest over. "A z-lister with great taste in shoes. Manalos, Jimmy Choo, Louboutins… how is a recent college grad affording this? Vampire sugar daddy?"

"The thought had crossed my mind," admitted Eric. There was evidence that pointed to this, the evidence being mostly that she certainly seemed to know vampires and their customs, and although the file on her resume listed only one paying job after graduation, as someone with an eye for such a thing, he'd noticed that although her clothes appeared simple, most of it had been designer. "Still, if that were the case, she'd smell like a vampire. He would have claimed her,"

"Or she," smirked Pam.

"Or she," agreed Eric in amusement. "Her file says she was adopted by a woman in Los Angeles, a woman by the name of Rita Zapata. She has money from a divorce, and it seems that's where Sasha gets her wealth from,"

 _It seems_. Eric had no reason not to trust Jacob Ames—he'd yet to fail him—but the file on Sasha Buckley seemed too clean cut. It contained some of her essays an even a published work of hers on Ancient warrior societies and their influence on each other—the section on Vikings had caught his eye—as well as the two parking tickets she'd ever received, along with her medical records, license, and even a copy of her passport. Every single piece of information was ordinary there—even her attendance at what might appear to be exclusive parties wasn't irregular, considering it was Los Angeles, and everyone always knew _someone_ to get invited to those types of things—and nothing at all pointed to the supernatural.

"Eric, said Pam. Her amusement had faded, overtaken by lines of worry. "Eric, you know I trust you. I always gave. But you're my maker, and I worry. I just want to caution you. We narrowly avoided disaster with Edgington, and he may be buried in a block of cement, but there's still Sophie-Anne and her financial disasters to contend with. Not to mention that bitch Nan Flanagan threatening us both if there's anymore trouble in your Area. Let's not go looking for it when it's leaving us the hell alone for once. Do your duty as Sheriff and take care of this Peter vampire, but no more. Please."

Eric hummed in acknowledgment, bringing Sasha Buckley's dossier back to face him. Pam was, of course, correct. Between drama with the club—those protesting vampire rights were targeting Fangtasia now more than ever—and then Dallas, the maenad business, the V-dealing, Russell Edgington and wolves…more than enough had happened in the last few months. Some peace and quiet was welcome, so why was he so eager to rush into trouble?

Then Eric frowned. He was somewhat surprised that he hadn't heard anything from the Queen. They'd both narrowly escaped with their lives from the fiasco of just over a week ago, and though she wouldn't be stupid enough to try to force him to continue to push V, he was certain that she would have tried to rope him into paying off her debts somehow. She was being suspiciously quiet. Then again, she was likely under AVL supervision right now, trying to work out some sort of deal with them.

* * *

Jack appeared, for the lack of a better word, utterly gob smacked. Then the expression faded to a light frown, and he looked away, staring at nothing particular.

"Wait, that's it? That's the big secret?"

A little miffed, Sasha said, "You sound disappointed,"

Jack shrugged, then immediately stopped, looking apologetic. "I mean, not to sound disappointed or anything, but, well, I was kind of expecting something more…something more outlandish, I guess,"

"Well, sorry to disappoint, kid," she grinned.

"Okay, so you're a witch," said Jack. "I mean, that _is_ cool. Are you like Harry Potter?"

"I'm pretty sure there was a vampire in ne of those books. Are you anything like him?" she asked, eyebrow quirked.

"No! Okay, fair," he admitted sheepishly. He drew his legs beneath him, crossing them as he rested his elbows on his knees. "So does that mean no wands? No crystal balls? There's this lady in town, everyone says she's a witch. She owns the rundown bookstore on Tenth. Have you met her?"

Sasha scratched at her temple for a moment, debating. "Look, Jack, this is something very few people about me know, and it needs to stay that way. Witches as you might know them, are very commonplace. This lady you're talking about, she may very well be. 'Witch' is a very, _very_ broad term. It can mean anyone from a medium to a psychic, to a practioner of Wicca. Mediums and psychics are born with powers, though they're not particularly strong. Psychics are types of mediums; they channel supernatural forces to commune with the dead or even see the past and future. Wiccans are practioners of Wicca as a religion, and that doesn't necessarily involve actual magic. Wiccans that use actual magic isn't really all that rare, actually. The true, powerful witches of old have had their bloodlines diluted so much that its likely that the average person does have some ability for magic, but will go their whole life without realizing, because that's another thing. Magic isn't easy; there are a lot of rules to obey, and a lot of steps to spells and things. You with me so far?"

"Yeah, yeah," said Jack. "You said true, powerful witches. What are those?"

Sasha took a deep breath. "True witches are the rarest. Very few still exist today. The old bloodlines are dying out, diluted with mundane blood. Now they're known as blood witches or born witches, and they have incredible power,"

"And you're one of them?" Jack asked. Now he was staring at her in awe.

"Half," said Sasha. "I'm half. My witch blood comes from my maternal side, but my father is pretty freaking ordinary. No strangeness there."

Suddenly shy, Jack asked, "Can you show me? Magic I mean,"

"No."

Sasha saw the disappointment cross his features and she sighed. "It's not that simple, Jack,"

Sasha removed the ring on her left ring finger, tossing it to him. He caught it reflexively, for a moment awed by his own reaction. Then he turned it over in his fingers, admiring it closely.

"A ring?"

"A talisman, really," said Sasha, accepting it back when Jack reached across the coffee table to give it back to her. She slipped it back onto her finger where it belonged, flexing her fingers a few times. "That vampire that knew what I was? Eoin's friend? He procured it for me. It inhibits my ability to use magic. At least it did, until that night in the cemetery. That purple light I blasted your with…somehow I overwhelmed the ring, and the rubies that worked to bind my magic shattered.

That was her guess, anyway. Over the years she'd gathered some insight into witchcraft, though it had all been rather reluctant, usually something she'd happened across during her research for work.

"I'm sorry," said Jack, looking mournful. "It's my fault your ring's broken,"

"It most certainly is not, Jack," said Sasha. "It would have happened sooner or later, and I'm sure as hell glad it happened when it did,"

Jack smiled a little at her. His eyes landed on her ring again. "So what now, without it? Can you get another?"

That was the million-dollar question. Sasha had been wearing that ring for thirteen years now, after Malachi had reluctantly offered it to her. She'd deemed her magic too unpredictable to contain, and that ring had been her lifeline to retaining a normal life. Well, semi-normal, anyway.

"Now I need another similar artifact. My friend is searching for a replacement, but the problem is that you need powerful magic to make one, and they don't come easily. This was made some two centuries ago," said Sasha.

"Wait, if your ring is broken, why can't you use magic?" asked Jack. "I mean, you did that purple light-blast thing—that was magic,"

"That was pure instinct," admitted Sasha. "If I had to do it again, I don't know that I could. Power like that, it's locked into my emotions, so being able to control them will be instrumental to making sure I don't accidentally do that were I could get exposed or worse, I hurt someone. That's something we'll both have to work on. As I'm sure you've noticed, your emotions are heightened now, and they're susceptible to swift changes,"

Jack nodded. "But aren't you curious? I mean, if I had power like that, I'd want to use it!"

"I'm not trained, Jack, and this isn't something to be played with—I'm a ticking time bomb. If my mother had stuck around long enough, she would have been the one to teach me how to handle all of this," Sasha shook her head. "She didn't see fit to, and I don't want anything to do with it. It's more trouble than it's worth—why do you think the old bloodlines are dying out?"

At a loss, Jack could only shrug. "I don't know,"

"The AVL forming has helped ease tension between monarchs, but once upon a time it wasn't so simple. A vampire king or queen might be like any human monarch—they might be satisfied with their territory, or they might want more. Some of the bloodiest wars in history humans have no ideas even occurred, because they happened between vampire kingdoms. Vampires are formidable opponents—now imagine if you had an all powerful witch on your side? Of course, witches and vampires have had a long history of not getting alone, so when witches were found not to be malleable to a vampire's desires—a blood witch can't be glamored, for instance—then they were killed,"

"I-I didn't think of that," stammered Jack. "Shit, Sasha, I won't tell anyone— _ever_ ," he pledged. She smiled weakly at him.

"I believe you, Jack. Do you see how lucky I was to have found Eoin and his friends? Another vampire would have either killed me or enslaved me. I ended up with a group of vampires that merely saw an orphan to be raised, because Eoin's companion realized what I was and that I was as good as dead without them,"

"Is that why Eric Northman is so interested in you?" asked Jack. Sasha's nose wrinkled at the mention of the Sheriff. Had the situation not been so precarious she would have been so interested in him—but as it were, she had to push down her fascination with him as a walking artifact and bible of Viking knowledge. He was an intuitive vampire, and he knew something was up. She just had to dance around him until she could hit the road. He might have been a respectable Sheriff, but there was no telling what he'd do if he found out the truth about her.

Sasha stole away to the bathroom after Jack settled into the living room for a movie. With the shower running, she took a deep breath, knowing that it was time to make The Dreaded Phone call. Her heart began hammering in her chest in time with the beeping of the line.

Just when she thought he might never answer, Eoin's Irish drawl trickled through the line, his contempt sharp.

" _Ye've got a lot of nerve callin' me, little dove. If I knew just where ye'd driven my damn car to, I'd come over there and wring yet little neck,_ "

Even as it intoned threats of bodily harm and even though her stomach had been tied up into knots, the voice of her favorite Irishman brought tears of relief to her eyes, and she realized just how much she missed home. It hadn't even been a full week, but not knowing when she'd be going back was more difficult than she had imagined.

"I miss you too, Eoin," she said with a watery laugh. "And the car's fine, by the way,"

"Fuckin' hell, dove I don't care about the blood car! You're the idiot girl that took off in the middle of the day. You're alive, at least," said Eoin.

Sasha climbed into the bathtub, laying against the cold ceramic as she propped her feet up on the edge. "I left a note," she told him defensively.

"Yeah, Malachi mentioned. He also forbade me from coming after you, so you have him to thank for your neck still being intact. Where the hell are you now, anyway?"

Malachi. A small smile formed on her lips. At the heart of it all, it was he who knew her best, and he was proving it all over again. He understood and respected she needed space and time to get over the events of the past year.

"Believe it or not," said Sasha. "But I'm in Louisiana,"

"I hope I heard wrong, and I hope you're talking about the hick state your father lives in. The same one that mad, murderous king was last spotted in? Sasha, dove," groaned Eoin. "You're at least being smart and traveling by day, staying in at night and away from dangerous vampires? Vampires in general, really?"

Sasha bit her lip, thoughts turning to the vampire in her living room, then to the Viking. "Oh yeah, totally,"

"That's something, at least," mumbled Eoin. "Because the place has been a hotbed for trouble lately, and you'd be an idiot to get involved,"

"I hear you, loud and clear," said Sasha, internally cursing herself. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd ever directly lied to Eoin McGinty. Her gaze dropped down to the gold band on her finger. She cleared her throat and then, ever oh-so innocently, she asked, "I know he's probably busy, but would you mind, sometime in the near future, asking Malachi if, you know, there's the possibility of him procuring another piece of jewelry for me?"

"I hope you're calling to tell me you lost the Cartier he gave you last Christmas," said Eoin.

"Eoin—"

She broke off as Eoin cursed loudly and creatively and in several languages on the other end of the line. Patiently, she waited until he was done.

"What the hell did you do _?_ "

"I don't need a lecture, Eoin," she told him, tapping her nails against the edge of the tub. "Will you just talk to him for me? Please?"

"Why don't you talk to him yourself?"

His tone was surprisingly soft, uncharacteristically enough that it brought another round of wetness to her eyes. Clearing her throat and shaking her head like it would combat the thoughts away, she said, "I called you, all right? Just tell him this one isn't working anymore, and if he has any leads on a replacement, that I'd greatly appreciate it,"

"Aye, I'll tell him, but…" Eoin sighed. "Just, whatever the hell it is you're doing or you're looking for, will you please be careful? Sometimes I worry you're too comfortable around my kind. You're not one of us yet, dove,"

"Yea, yeah, I know," muttered Sasha. Her fingers came up to dance against the column of her neck as she tried to picture herself with fang marks. She couldn't. Perhaps it had been because she'd spent so long entrenched in the world of vampires, but she'd become so used to being the human in the room. She had grown up very aware of her beating heart and the warm blood in her veins, of the fragility of her flesh and bones, of her fundamental needs as a human. It was impossible not to appreciate the very basics of what made her human when she was surrounded by vampires; she would be lying if she didn't find herself drawn to vampires, but did she want to be one?

It was difficult to say.

"Is that where you'll be? Louisiana?" asked Eoin. Her hand dropped back to her lap.

"For the next few weeks, yeah," said Sasha. "Don't worry about me,"

"That depends. Are you there because you're seeing your prick of a father?"

Sasha had reconnected with her father during her freshman year in college, and they maintained a very strained relationship since. They'd seen each other a handful of times since then, and she'd even spent a Christmas with him and his new family one-year, but it was a rocky relationship. She resented him for her childhood, he resented her for running away. Eoin, though he had never met the man, had an intense dislike for her father, and he voiced it every chance he had. But even Eoin might have preferred her father to the situation she currently found herself in.

"He doesn't even know I'm here. I'm not telling him. I was only meant to be passing through the state, anyway," said Sasha. Then, because she really didn't want to be talking about her biological father, she added, "I only got stranded here because your stupid car broke down,"

That set Eoin off, successfully diverting his attention as he defended the Camaro and his skills as a mechanic, insulted her driving and general ineptitude for anything mechanical and told her it served her right for stealing his car in the first place. She bantered with him, falling back to the comfortable routine, savoring it if only for a little while.

* * *

 **ALEX S WINNING THAT EMMY I WAS SO PROUD! Fun story about Big Little Lies: I got into True Blood earlier this year, and after i binged all the seasons I was dying for my Skarsgard stuff to watch. I finished True Blood on a Saturday, and HBO suggested Big Little Lies, and it premiered the next night. I was hooked immediately, and new he had to AT LEAST get nominated. Extremely pleased he won.**

 **Hi guys! It's taken me longer to get this chapter out than previous ones, partly because it really stumped me, partly because school started to kick my butt. I hope to never allow more than a week at most in between updates, mostly for my own sanity.**

 **Hope you enjoyed some Paric goodness in this one. Is anyone as disappointed as Jack at finding out that Sasha is a witch? Who had already guessed as much?**

 **Big thanks to those that have been reviewing but are guests and therefore I cannot personally message back! JamesNorthman96, 'Guest' and 'Liza' thanks so much! Also glad Jack is a success!**

 **I'll be posting CHAPTER 6: DATE NIGHT later on today, so keep and eye out for that, which will feature Sasha and Eric getting drinks and some sizzling conversation between the two.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Date Night**

Sasha shifted onto her back, fixing an arm behind her head. She watched the light filtering through the blinds dance on the ceiling, reflected through the blue-green of a lamp's glass base. For a long time she remained in the nest of blankets she had cocooned herself in, turning over the strange dreams of a rundown Victorian style house. She'd had the AC running most of the night, and when it was off the shades and blinds in the room had effectively kept her room nice and cool, leaving her in a bubble of comfort to reminisce.

To say that she was driving from somewhere and to nowhere wasn't totally accurate, because although she wasn't too sure about what would come _after_ , she knew where she was headed to, because someone like Sasha Buckley _always_ had a back up plan. She could say all she liked that she'd grown out of the ashes of her past experiences and into a cool, free spirit, always ready to adapt to the tide of change and be fine with it. In truth, no matter how much she had grown from the young, terrified child she had once been, at her core she was still weary of all the same things at twenty-four that she had been at eleven: abandonment, betrayal, loss. Her deep-rooted commitment issues had led her to never allow herself to become completely lulled into blissful, ignorant happiness with her new family. She loved them all dearly, but even at eleven she had come to realize that a nest of vampires did not a stable and reliable family make. She was, at the end of the night, always ready for the other shoe to drop.

It was why, as soon as she could afford it, she had bought a tiny studio in Brooklyn, and had not revealed its existence to anyone, though she was certain Malachi knew, because he was Malachi and always knew everything.

Putting three thousand miles between the two states should have been her priority, and so Sasha should have been somewhat miffed about her impromptu sojourn in Bon Temps, Louisiana. It was, after all, her least favorite state, closely followed by Nevada. But she also believed in fate, and she'd strongly come to believe that whatever Mystical Powers That Be that governed over people like her and vampires and the like had put all those obstacles in her path to lead her straight to Jack. Jack needed her help, and she needed something for all its safety and privacy her Brooklyn studio wouldn't give her: a purpose. She had never been the idle type, and with her worries and fears crowding around her head like the finicky demons that they were, having nothing to do only lead to self-destruction.

So for now, Bon Temps it was. She just had to be sure she didn't overstate her welcome and land herself in trouble with the local Sheriff. It was more difficult than she might have assumed, because something about Eric Northman—something that wasn't the fascinating Viking—set her blood to boil and could infuriate her with a single look.

The August heat began to turn stifling in her room, and so Sasha regretfully fought her way out of her tangle of sheets and into the bathroom for a shower. After getting cleaned up she dressed in a simply A-line dress in a lightweight, breathable material to fend off the impending humidity, though she had to jam her feet into her Doc Martens regardless. They were the only pairs of shoes she'd packed when she'd bolted from LA— _Gods she missed her closet_ —and she made a note to do some shopping, especially for Jack. He was in desperate need of a wardrobe. She was unashamed to admit that, whether he liked it or not, she had big plans to drag him store to store and built an entire wardrobe. He was cute as a fucking doll, and he deserved to be thoroughly spoiled after all that had happened to him.

But, for now, her priority with Jack was finding out more about his Maker. Jack said that Peter was from the area, and he'd even provided a last name. After her research on Drew Marshall had revealed just how obsessed the town on Bon Temps was with its own history, she had a good hunch she might be able to dig up some dirt on the vampire after all.

The library was just as dusty as she remembered it being, and she was greeted through the suspicious eyes of the librarian, who remembered her and her attitude two days ago, when she'd come in dripping wet and in search of answers for Drew Marshall's ghost. The librarian, a rickety old woman with a dangerously hooked nose, watched the entire time as she set up shop at one of the tables. She was, Sasha thought, slightly pacified when she realized that Sasha was actually dry this time, and that she appeared interested in the local history.

Somewhere in the stacks of articles and books that the people of Bon Temps prized so much for their recordings of local history, Sasha was certain she would find Peter.

Seven hours of research in the library had yielded extraordinary results, and Sasha had to admit that of the few things Bon Temps did right, record keeping was one of them as long as it could be associated to local history. The Bon Temps Preservation society made it its business to raise money to keep the library running with the primary focus of its local archives, and although they were badly in need of a technical upgrade, Sasha found that articles, diaries, and books were all perfectly catalogued. Mrs. Alistair, the librarian, had even warmed up to her when she'd realized her keen interest in the local history, and had periodically brought her coffee and stale cookies.

After compiling a substantial folder on the vampire known as Peter, Sasha checked her watch. She had to meet Eric Northman at sundown at her Merlotte's, but she had another two hours before that happened. Her stomach, however, was not willing to wait and she'd rather not eat in front of him anyway.

When she settled at her usual place at the bar, Sam greeted her, asking if the house was suiting her needs. She assured him it was, and then put an order in for a burger. As she waited for her food, she absently sketched on Merlotte's napkin, the inky blue lines gradually taking shape beneath her pen until it began to resemble the house from her dream.

Jason Stackhouse ambled in at a more reasonable hour than her, smiling broadly when he spotted her at the bar. He took the stool next to her propping himself up on his elbows.

"Evenin'," he greeted. "So you stickin' around or what?"

"Looks like, for a little while anyway," said Sasha.

"I'm glad. I know a lotta people knock our town, but it's a great place to live. I love this place," Then Jason frowned. "Granted, it's been a weird year." He flashed her that puppy dog smile that was starting to make even Sasha melt.

While Sasha had always known that her romantic orientation was very straight, finding herself romantically drawn to anyone had been a lifelong struggle. Growing up with vampires had blurred a lot of lines when it came sex, and that hadn't set up a prime example for her when it came to romance and attraction. Physical, sexual attraction was easy, but Los Angeles had been filled with beautiful people and simply beautiful people had never been enough to arouse her interest. The vampires she had grown up with had been family, and the humans she met she just couldn't bring herself to find much interest in, not when their lives were so simple in comparison. She knew it was unfair to draw such a comparison—at the end of the day, she was human herself.

That being said, something about Jason Stackhouse thawed even her frozen little heart. She could tell that he wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box, but he was hardworking and he seemed genuinely good. He also was so incredibly focused on his missing sister, on finding her safe and sound; the love he had for her was unmistakable and, in a way, Sasha envied that. What was it like to have your blood so deeply invested in you?

"You went by the old Montgomery house?" asked Jason. "Not surprised. I heard you're into the weird, haunted stuff,"

Sasha pursed her lips, ready to dispel the common rumor. Then the fullness of what he had said dawned on her, and she glanced away from her sketch sharply.

"What?"

"Well, Montgomery Manor, I guess," shrugged Jason. "Weirded buildin' in town, er, near town. I guess it ain't technically right in town, but it's still considered Bon Temps. Anyway, funny thing is, we all know it cause—"

Sasha wasn't listening to Jason's rambling any more. Her eyes had dropped to the sketch that Jason had pointed out. How could she be sketching a place she had never seen?

 _Not the weirdest thing that's happened. Not by far_ , she told herself. But as she tired to convince herself that her strange dream was within the realm of possibility, she couldn't explain away the pit in her stomach.

"This place, where is it? Is it near here? And you said it's named Montgomery? Is that after the family that lived there?"

"Uh, yeah, but…" Jason faltered. "You all right, Sasha?"

"She wasn't all right. She felt dizzy and her stomach was constricting so painfully tightly she thought it might be eating itself.

She had dreamed a house that she had never before seen but that actually existed, right here in Bon Temps. It was too strange, not with her recently damaged ring. But why would she dream that house specifically? A house with the same name as her mother's maiden name? _That_ was too big of a coincidence…

 _Not a coincidence,_ thought Sasha. _Fate guided you here. You thought it was for Jack, but what if it wasn't it? What if its for something personal?_

She picked up the napkin sketch, staring at it until her mind was made up. She still had time before she was due to meet Eric.

"Jason, I need the address of this house."

* * *

Montgomery Manor, as it turned out, was a rundown and crumbling house. What must have surely once been a beautiful if kitschy three-story Victorian style manor was now a decrepit mess, completely abandoned. The sprawling lawn had become an overgrown mess; she crossed her fingers and hoped she wouldn't happen upon an errant alligator.

For a long time, Sasha remained in the Camaro, sitting in the tarnished driveway, bent over the steering wheel to stare up at the house. It had certainly been something, once upon a time. It boasted a proud awing and an expansive wrap-around porch. The first and second floor featured an array of geometrical shapes; triangular points in the roof and square and rectangular windows, half circle awnings and even a round, tower-like attachment to the right side of the house.

As Sasha stared at the remnants of the formerly glorious manor, it started to come alive before her eyes to what it once might have been. Shingles flew back into place, bright maroon paint and white trim began to blossom freshly over the wood paneling, windows repaired and curtains swished into place. The missing step on the porch creaked into place, and the overgrown grass shot back into the ground until only short, emerald shoots remained. And the singing. She could a woman singing something old, something familiar. Sitting there on the porch, an older woman was sitting in a rocking chair, knitting needles in her hands and a basket of yarn at her feet.

Sasha started in surprise, her elbow slipping on the steering wheel and hitting the horn. In an instant all the gaps and embellishments her imagination had filled in disappeared, the house once more nothing more than a decrepit ruin now that the mirage was broken.

Except the woman. The woman was still there, still knitting.

"Holy shit," breathed Sasha. She pinched the skin between her thumb and index finger. The woman was still sitting there.

Summoning her courage, Sasha stepped out of the car, gingerly shutting it behind her. The woman in the rocking chair was dark skinned, with a headful of white micro braids piled on her head in thick ropes, held back by a purple velvet scarf. She wore long flowing layers of fabric in earthy colors.

Then she spoke with a voice and accent thick and honeyed as molasses. "Well don't just stand over there, child. Get on over here,"

Sasha looked around. There was no one else around. She walked over cautiously, quite sure that she was encountering her second Bon Temps spirit. While this ghost appeared far nicer than Drew Marshall, she couldn't be completely sure.

At least, since the first ghost incident, she'd had the foresight of carrying a piece of iron on her keychain, and the hand that carried her car keys fingered that now.

Her foot touched down on the bottom step of the porch, and she swore the whole house shuddered.

"I might be dead and all, child, but I ain't got all eternity to wait for you," chided the old woman.

Friendly or not, she was certainly a sassy ghost. Sasha came to a stop before the knitting ghost—a first, surely—and looked her over. She was very beautiful, and though she was somewhere after her fifties, the richness and smoothness of her dark skin made it difficult to tell how truly old she had been when she had died. As she catalogued her every feature, Sasha reached up to touch her bottom lip. It was identical to the woman's.

"You're not, you're not my….?"  
"Your grandmother? Of course I am, child."

" _Shit_ ,"

* * *

Eric Northman had no particular desire to spend the evening in Merlotte's, but he had agreed via text message with Sasha Buckley that at Fangtasia they could be too easily overheard. Whatever information she had been able to gather from Jack about the vampire Peter might be rendered obsolete if Peter had any friends in the area that might tip him off to the Sheriff being on to him.

As soon as he was inside the bar, he attracted weary and suspicious eyes. He ignored them. Eric was aware that a great many of them suspected that he had done away with their precious waitress; the local imbecile and Sheriff had even questioned him, and Bill Compton too. As if _they_ would ever be responsible for harming Sookie Stackhouse.

"Eric?"

 _Speak of the little devil and his progeny shall appear_ , Eric thought dryly. Jessica Hamby greeted him at the entrance, not bothering to hide her bewilderment at finding him in the establishment. He had seen her around his club a few times, and he and Pam had a running bet that her relationship with her human would not last. Bill Compton might have wanted his progeny to be a good, Tru Blood-drinking little girl, but it was apparent the girl craved fresh blood, as any proper vampire would. Especially one so young.

"Miss Hamby," greeted Eric. "How is your maker? I almost miss his constant nagging, the attempts on my life,"

Jessica's eyes widened, revealing that she didn't know anything about how Bill Compton had attempted to trap him in a block of cement, how he'd hired an assassin to kill Pam. _Try_ to kill Pam.

"Look, I don't know what's goin' on with you two—I just know I haven't seen him in a few days. He's taken this Sookie thing real bad," said Jessica. "He ain't here,"

Eric considered the redhead fledgling. Despite her maker, Eric thought she might turn out to be suited to their life, she just had to learn to give in to her vampiric instincts rather than clinging onto her human ambitions. He was also aware that despite her loyalty to her maker, Jessica Hamby was smart enough not to place herself personally at odds with him or Pamela and, Eric suspected, even admired them. Eric didn't think she was lying to him now.

It was also why she was safe from his wrath. Bill Compton was hiding, was he? It seemed that he wasn't a complete idiot. Eric might have been able to overlook the attempt on his life—not only because it had been laughable, it had only reinforced that Compton viewed him as a threat when it came to Sookie Stackhouse's affections—but he couldn't overlook that Compton had tried to kill Pam. If his progeny had been harmed… well, he might not find it within himself to be so gracious as to allow sweet Jessica Hamby go unscathed. But for now, the young redhead was safe from him.

"I am not here for your idiot maker," said Eric. Casually, he reached up and smoothed his hair back. "I happen to have a date,"

The young vampire's brow furrowed as she asked, "A date? _You?_ _Here_?"

When he didn't answer her, Jessica seemed to remember herself and found him a table. Eric took a seat, ignoring the eyes on him, the glares and the uncomfortable stares—a few embarrassed, interested eyes were in the mix—and simply waited.

Sasha Buckley was late.

He couldn't think of a time ever when a human had ever made him wait, and he was only willing to forgive her when she stepped into the bar looking like the most delicious little snack. Her sage green dress resonated beautifully against her tanned caramel skin, the thin straps bringing attention to her collarbones and the curve of her neck.

After a quick glance of the bar, Sasha spotted him easily in the corner booth he sat in, aware of the tension in the bar as she walked over.

"Green is definitely your color, Miss Buckley _,_ " said Eric.

She blinked at him, falling out of some sort of mental preoccupation. It was obvious that she was worrying over something, and he had the feeling it wasn't him. What could a twenty-something girl meeting with a thousand-year-old vampire possibly have to worry about but said vampire? It bothered him that though she seemed to respect his position of authority, she didn't fear him or shrink submissively.

"Hi," she greeted, dropping into the booth across from him. She pulled out a folder and placed it on the table between them. Her movements were sharp, a little jittery as she dropped a pen and paperclip on the floor.

"Um—well, I'm thirsty. Are you thirsty?" she asked, reaching up and tousling her hair. She almost appeared nervous, but then he didn't think he made her nervous at all. His eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out just what was going on with her.

"You said thirsty?"

Jessica Hamby appeared at their table, prompting him to remember that even here their conversation wouldn't be completely secret.

"Yeah, hi Jessica. Can I get a beer? Thanks. Northman?" said Sasha, speaking quickly. She moved to pile her hair in a knot on top of her head, sending shockwaves of her scent around. Eric felt muscles in his stomach clench, and Jessica's eyes darted towards Sasha's neck.

Noticing this, Sasha glanced between the two vampires, perhaps finally realizing that she was literally backed into a corner of Merlotte's by two vampires. But she merely scoffed, saying, "I can't possibly smell that good. Eric, do you want a Tru Blood or not?"

"You'd be surprised," murmured Eric. "Sure. Whatever you have,"

The truth was, with her scent so tantalizingly near, that mix of ocean spray and honey, any Tru Blood flavor would taste extra synthetic on his tongue tonight. But having one on the table in front of him, whether he drank it or not, was generally reassuring to humans, and he had a part to play, especially these days.

When she still hadn't moved, Eric prompted, "Miss Hamby."

Jessica started, smiling apologetically at Sasha and then moving away to get their drinks.

"Long day?" asked Eric.

"I think I know where Peter might be hiding," she told him conversationally, dodging his question and sliding the manila folder toward him. He was surprised when he opened it and found a few printed articles, a map, and a few pages of hand written notes. She wrote in a neat, slanted cursive. Her Es, Ss, Fs were nice and loopy.

" _And you did all this today?_ " he asked. He added, " _I'd rather we spoke in French, as the waitress is rather nosy,_ "

As he said this, Sasha returned with their drinks, her blue eyes burning with curiosity. She was staring at Sasha again, though this time the hunger had been replaced by many questions.

" _A you prefer_ ," agreed Sasha.

"That will be all for now, Miss Hamby, unless Sasha requires her dinner," said Eric.

"I'm not hungry, thanks," Sasha told Jessica. Jessica left, and Sasha took a sip of her beer. She savored it for a moment, and her pink tongue darting out across her bottom lip temporarily distracted Eric.

" _I'm comfortable in libraries,_ " she told him by way of answer to his earlier question.

" _Hmm, I'm aware,"_ he told her casually. " _Tell me, is French a language you studied before or after your history degree?_ "

Her drink paused hallway to her mouth and her eyes narrowed into a glare he was starting to like. " _You looked into me?_ "

Eric sat back in his seat, shrugging. " _You're surprised_?"

" _No,_ " she admitted. Her fingers clicked once on the table. " _But I don't like it, either,"_

" _There's something about you that's not quite right_ ," said Eric. " _Are you human?_ "

" _Yes,_ "said Sasha, somewhat baffled. " _Why would think otherwise?_ "

" _Your scent, for one. I told you last night. You smell uncommonly delicious,_ " said Eric. Then his eyebrow turned up suggestively. " _Any chance you'd allow me to taste you?_ "

He was somewhat impressed when Sasha leaned back in her seat. Her heart might have been beating a little faster, but she was staring back at him coolly. " _No, and I'm not interested in sharing my blood, either_ ,"

Eric bit down on his bottom lip to keep from smiling outright. It was official; he'd have her in his bed sooner or later. She could say all she wanted, but he could hear her blood rush _that_ much faster when he looked at her. She didn't have to say that she was attracted to him, because her body had betrayed her that very first night they'd met, and it had since then.

Leaning forward, he asked, " _Why do I feel like that's a challenge?_ "

Sasha rested her elbows on the table, leaning over so that she could gaze directly into her eyes, those unusual and stunning mismatched eyes. Her earlier nerves were forgotten. " _Monsieur Northman_ ," she said so deliberately that the way her lips wrapped around the words went straight to his dick. " _If I stopped to fuck every vampire interested in me, I wouldn't have much time for anything else in my life. And since I'm only human, I have to make the most of my short life,_ "

She sat back in her booth, sipping on her beer. " _If you think this is a challenge…well, I hope you enjoy playing with yourself,_ "

Despite how casual her words sounded, Eric didn't miss the innuendo there, and this time he couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. This was by no means over, but he let allowed his eyes to stray back to the report she had compiled. He had to admit that although there was less information than his PI had put together, this information might be more useful in their search.

It appeared that Peter had lived in Bon Temps some three hundred years ago as the son of a priest. Records showed that his father had built a small church on the outskirts of town and, as seen by the dated hand drawn map of town and a modern one, the area was now mostly swamp. There was a death certificate for Peter, and then news clippings of disappearing locals following the date of his death.

" _I'll send vampires to check your little church site,_ " Eric said finally, tapping the map she had helpfully included. " _If he's still in the area, there's a good chance he might be holed up there. Tell me, where is the newborn_?"

" _I'm renting a place. I've made sure his room is light-tight. He's there now,_ " she assured him.

" _Send the bill to Fangtasia. I'll reimburse you any expenses related to the newborn,_ " said Eric.

" _Thanks, but there's no need_ ," Sasha told him. " _I'm handling it,_ "

"You don't know him," reminded Eric.

" _Neither do you_ ,"

" _He's a vampire in my Area_ ," countered Eric. " _He is my responsibility, not yours. You brought him to me, remember_?"

Sasha's eyes narrowed. " _I'm aware. I brought him to you yes, because you are Sheriff. He prefers to stay with me, so that's what he'll do. Neither of us is his maker, and unless you're going to use your Sheriff's authority to force him into your custody, he's fine where he is,_ "

Eric laughed in disbelief. " _And are you aware, Sasha Buckley, that you're not a vampire? You might know about us, you might know our ways, but you're not one of us. What happens if he loses control? He's already young, it's prone to happen, but you smell uncommonly enticing. You end up a corpse; when that happens, you're both my responsibility,_ "

Sasha huffed in annoyance, then jammed her hand into her bag for a pen. She pulled a sheet of paper from the file and quickly scribbled a few lines. She thrust it at him.

" _Happy?_ "  
He scanned it quickly. It read, "'I absolve Eric Northman, Sheriff of Area 5, of any and all responsibility should any harm come to myself, Sasha Buckley, while I reside in his territory, Area 5 of Louisiana. _'"_

 _"This would mean nothing to the humans,"_ said Eric, tossing it back down between them. " _They would say I glamored you,_ "

" _If something happens to me, there aren't any humans that would give a damn_ ," she told him. She reached for the paper again, turning it to face her. " _Fang?_ "

Eric cocked his head to her, bewildered. She curled a finger towards him impatiently. He leaned forward, letting his fangs extend. Sasha pricked her thumb on his left fang, a quick fleeting touch that didn't even allow him a taste of her blood, not even the salt of her skin. She sat back in her seat and massaged her thumb, waiting for a drop of blood to well. When it did, she pressed her thumb to her little contract, next to her signature.

She blew on the small print of blood, letting it dry. Then she folded the contract and slid it to him. " _There you are,_ "

His interest grew once again. So the little girl new of blood contracts, did she? They were rarely used between vampire and humans, mostly because contracts between them tended to remain in the financial business realm, where a paper trail by human law was necessary. This was far more ancient, relying on the truths that only blood could reveal. If it came to it, a third party vampire would be able to attest with a single taste that she had not been glamored into the contract.

"How are you not claimed?" Eric asked as he packed away the contract into his inside jacket pocket. He was beginning to find the notion a little bizarre. A faint blush spread to her cheeks, and he knew that she had heard the compliment in his words. She cleared her throat.

"So if that's all?"

Eric rose to his feet, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. He placed enough cash to cover his drink and Sasha's beer and a generous tip for Jessica—she had wisely refrained from pestering their table as she had the others in the bar—onto the table.

" _I'll expect you both to make appearances at my club. He should be around his own kind,_ " he told her.

" _Aw, you just want to make sure I still have a pulse. How sweet_ ," Sasha teased, though there was no light of amusement in her eyes. " _Bonsoir, Monsieur Northman._ "

* * *

Eric Northman left, and it was like the bubble around them popped. A combination of sound and energy hit Sasha as she became aware of the rest of bar. She sighed when she realized that she was getting more than one dirty look from the patrons of Merlotte's, knowing that she'd pretty much solidified a reputation of fangbanger.

Oh well.

"Everything okay here?" asked Jessica as she came to collect Eric's Tru Blood. It was still full, cold now. "You kinda look like you could use another beer,"

"I…yeah, yeah I definitely could," said Sasha. "Please,"

Jessica smiled warmly at her, counting the money on the table. "Looks like Eric left enough here for you to treat yourself to another drink and dinner…for like, the rest of the week,"

"No, no, that's your tip," said Sasha. "But can you put in an order for me? A Merlotte's deluxe, a fry, and beer to go?"

"Sure thing," promised Jessica. She turned to leave, then twisted back around, chewing on her lip for a moment.

"Look, I don't mean to pry or nothing, but um…well, things seemed a little tense here. And Eric, I know he said he was your date—"

"—he did?" Sasha asked, faintly amused.

"Yeah and, well, I wouldn't exactly call him friendly. I guess what I'm gettin' at is, are you all right?"

"I'm fine Jessica, thank you. Eric Northman is somehow the least of my problems," muttered Sasha. Jessica looked dubious at this, but she smiled and left to go put in the order.

But, for Sasha, it was the truth. He wasn't anywhere near close to finding out what she was. It seemed that all he had to go on was her scent, which he apparently found so enticing he thought she was something other than human. But witches were human, and if his guesses continued to be so outlandish, she'd be fine. If he did and he tried anything she didn't like, she'd hit the first number on her speed dial and she'd have ensured protection even against the likes of him. That was one favor she'd rather not call upon though, so she was just fine playing it cool with him until she left town.

No, the knots of trepidation in Sasha's stomach went beyond the annoyingly attractive vampire Sheriff, even beyond the vampire newborn.

She was still in something of a daze at coming across Montgomery. For one, she didn't like to think what kind of forces were at play that had led her here, wondering if they were stronger than her, if she had any say at all in what was happening to her life. Secondly, Montgomery Manor didn't make any sense. Her mother had been from the East Coast, born and bred in Washington DC. It was her father that was from Louisiana, not her mother. Why had they lied? Had her father even known?

Nothing was making sense, and now Sasha was confronted not only her past, but that of her flighty mother. Did she even want to stick around to find out more?

* * *

 **Chapter 6, as promised! Sasha's life is starting to become a mystery not only to Eric, but to Sasha herself! And loved writing the interaction between Eric and Sasha in this chapter, and next chapter's is even more intense, which I can't wait. The next chapter will also feature Eric/Sasha/Jack interaction, which was a fun little gem to write, so I hope y'all enjoy that.**

 **Liza thanks for your constant reviews, you have no idea how rewarding reading them is! As far as Paric goes, I don't think they have to agree on everything, but I feel like some of Eric's behavior in the show was out of character, just based on how loyal of a progeny he himself was, and how much he obviously loved Pam.**

 **Next chapter will be called, "Chapter 7: The First Supper" and Ginger makes an appearance! Any predictions?**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: The First Supper**

 **(Chapter dedicated to reviewer 'Proserpinae')**

Sasha offered to take Jack anywhere he wanted to get his new wardrobe going, and she was sorely disappointed when voiced Hot Topic with obvious longing.

Still, he was a seventeen-year-old boy, and so she shelved her designer daydreams and boutique fancies for another time. So once the sun and dipped below the horizon and Jack had risen for the night, she took him to Shreveport. At first he was a little disoriented—a large city like Shreveport was so much more than Bon Temps in the way of sights and sounds and scents, and she listened to him catalogue each new piece of information, sorting it out for himself. He was a small town boy, but he had never known just how truly complex the city really was until now.

It also took a while to get him comfortable enough with the idea of shopping with her money. A threat to take him to the nearest and most preppy store in their vicinity (conveniently they passed a Hollister on the way) and pick out salmon colored shorts and polo shirts in every color under the rainbow made Jack succumb to her demands. After his initial reluctance, he really got into it— _too_ into it, even.

Some of his picks were adorably cringe-worthy, and she delicately suggested to tone down his new look; he was a vampire now, and he didn't want to be exchanged for a fangbanger. After he shyly explained he wanted to look the part, Sasha laughed and told him that there was no part to play; he was vampire through and through. He put the chains and spiked dog collar down after that.

"Vampires won't judge you for your race or your gender, but they'll judge the hell out of you for how you look," she explained to him, looking over the pair of Doc Martens that he had picked out for himself. She had whole-heartedly approved the choice.

"What do you mean how you look?" fretted Jack, tugging at his long black locks. Realization dawned on him. "I'm always going to look like this. Fuck,"

"I don't mean physically," said Sasha, coming to stand next to the mirror he faced. He had tried on a pair of black pants with a lot of pockets. "And you look fine. Still like a seventeen year old boy, but you'd be surprised by how much vampires change over time. Age will start to come in at the eyes," she reached up to touch his temples. "And if you compared yourself now to the last picture you took when you were still human, you'd see some changes. Any scars, any blemish your skin might have had…it's likely your features are even sharper now. It's been recorded that vampires lose a small percentage of body fat during the change, though no one knows why. Probably because you don't have to worry about things like body heat," she mused. "Pants fit right,"

Jack nodded at her reflection, thumbs through the belt loops of the black pants. "Me too. And you know, I think you're right. My jaw looks a little sharper, and my nose used to have this kind of bump here, from when I broke it two years ago, and it didn't really set right,"

"There you go. But what I meant earlier is that it's about what you wear, how you carry yourself. Just like with humans, how you dress says a lot about you. When you're around vampires, you don't want to try too hard. Think about the vampires at Fangtasia. What were they wearing?"

Jack frowned for a second, thinking. "They all looked really great, and I guess they stood out because they were dressed kind of simply. Dark clothing, but nice, simple things," If he could have flushed, Sasha was certain he could have as he muttered, "Well, except Pam. There wasn't anything simple about her outfit."

Sasha smirked. "That's because Pam knows exactly what she's doing to the human clientele. But I guarantee you her personal style is much more tame outside of the club. Have your own personal style, but appear as laidback as you can, especially when you're young. The older you are, the more you can get away with whatever you want, because then less vampires are willing to give you shit for it,"

"Huh," said Jack. He considered his reflection a little more. "I know you hate the pants, but I like them."

She rolled her eyes, shoving the boots into his arms and telling him to try them on just to be sure. He argued that they were his size, and she argued that it would only take him a second. Sure enough they were just a little too snug, and he had to get a bigger size. It took a while, because of the workers realized that Jack was a vampire, and she flirted her little heart out. It took a while for Jack to catch on, and when he did he turned into a bit of a nervous mess.

Sasha hung back, allowing the interaction between the two. Gods knew he needed to interact with someone other than her. As he fumbled his way through the woes of teenage attraction—death hadn't taken any awkwardness of that particular stage of life—she pretended to flip through the racks of clothes. But her mind was elsewhere. It was on Montgomery Manor and the unlikely discovery she had made there.

" _You're not, you're not my..?"  
"Your grandmother? Of course I am, child." _

_"Shit,"_

 _Sasha stared at the woman's ghost, fingers tangled in the curls above her forehead. She tugged at them, as though the pain of it might rip her from this dream. The linen dress she'd slipped on to fend off the heat suddenly felt too constricting, her boots two sizes too small. Her skin itched—were her lungs working right? They weren't._

 _"Breathe, child. You ain't dead like me," said her grandmother. "There it is, that's it. Good Goddess look at you,"_

 _"You're… are you the one that tampered with my car?" accused Sasha. "And what about the other ghost? Did you have anything to do with that?"_

 _"Other ghost?" repeated her grandmother. She set her knitting needles aside, which Sasha eyed wearily. Physically they wouldn't be able to harm her, but this ghost, grandmother or not, was strong. Sasha could feel it. And it she was that strong, any manifestation she could create on the ghostly plane could at least affect Sasha psychically, which could be worse than an flesh wound._

 _"Drew Marshall," said Sasha said carefully._

 _A dark shadow passed over her grandmother's face, deepening the lines of age that had previously been soft, giving her a much older look. "That's one bad ghost, child. You stay away from him. He's been hauntin' town for a while, but he can't get into the house here. You're safe here,"_

 _"He's not haunting anyone anymore," Sasha said dryly. "He attacked me. Twice. So I barbequed his bones."_

 _"Child, I had no idea. I'm bound to the magic of this house," explained her grandmother. "But I'm proud. Your mother must have taught you well,"_

 _Sasha scoffed, her eyes falling to the ground. "Did you have anything to do with the dream I had of this house?"_

 _"I've been trying to contact you ever since I sensed your blood nearby. I've been trying to communicate with you through your dreams, but something blocked me every time, at least until last night,"_

 _Sasha glanced down at her ring_.

"Sasha? I think I'm done here,"

Sasha blinked rapidly, finding Jack standing next to her. They went to the register to pay, and when they were done with his shopping they stopped by a boutique that caught her eyes so that she could find something to wear later that night. She reminded him that they were expected at Fangtasia, and he turned into a mixture of nerves and excitement at the prospect.

"You okay, Sasha?"

"What? I'm fine," she told him, flashing him a quick smile. But it didn't reach her eyes, and he didn't look convinced.

"You seemed off since last night, after you came back from that meeting with Northman," said Jack. "That's pretty," he added, nodding to the red satin dress in her hands.

Sasha laughed as she placed it back on the rack. "I think that if I wore that to Fangtasia, I'd officially be labeled vampire bait,"

"So?" prompted Jack. "I can tell you're avoiding my question,"

Sasha smiled ruefully at the young vampire. He was watching her, blue eyes earnest. He really was concerned.

"It's not Northman," she assured him. "It's nothing to do with vampires, for once. It's about me, what I am, what I can do…"

"Anything I can do to help?" he asked hopefully. "I mean, I'm not that old, but I am a vampire now. So I'm strong, and fast—"

"It's nothing you can do, Jack. But thank you," she squeezed his hand and then moved along, spotting a pair of heels she that had her fashionista little heart heart skipping a beat. She looked them over. A strip ran up the back, and horizontal straps began from the toes and continued all the way up the calf and to below the knee. And they were her size!

"About vampires," said Jack, trailing behind her as she took a seat on a pink loveseat to try the shoes on. His tone had become much more subdued, almost hushed. "What's happening with Peter? We haven't really talked about that,"

Sasha's hands froze on the silver heels of the shoes. "He's getting taken care of,"

"Will, will I see him?" Jack asked quietly.

Tearing her eyes away from her heels, she peered up at Jack, trying to gage whether the young vampire did or did not want to meet his maker. She couldn't be sure either way.

"That's up to you," she said carefully. "If you want to see him you can, or we never even have to talk about him again. Either way, he's getting punished for what he did,"

Jack nodded, a flash of pain crossing his features. For a long moment he gazed at his reflection in the mirror next to them, though his eyes were unfocused, like he wasn't really seeing himself. Then he turned and flashed her a quick smile.  
"The shoes are sweet. You should get them," Then, with a mischievous smirk he added, "I bet Northman would like them too,"

It was clear he wanted to change the subject, and so Sasha huffed dramatically, taking his teasing tone in full stride.

" _Northman_? I am not buying shoes because of _Eric Northman_!" she laughed. "I happen to have a shopping problem, is all,"

"Oh please. You two were so eye-fucking each other the other night!" laughed Jack. "I couldn't tell if he wanted to eat you or, you know _,_ _eat you_ ,"

"Jack!" exclaimed Sasha, smacking his shoulder. "Language!" He grinned impishly at her, shrugging.

"Hey, I'm just calling it like I see it!"

* * *

"And you're certain of this?" asked Eric.

The vampire glanced at Pam, then back to Eric. She was average in every way; her hair was a dull brunette, she was neither short nor tall, her clothes were plain. Even her features were rather forgettable, and Kimberly Smith had used all of these qualities to become a rather good spy. She belonged to the highest bidder, and for quite some time that had been Eric. Her information had always been reliable, but there was a first for everything.

"I'm very certain, Sheriff," said Kimberly. "But I'll need more time to figure out where's she's run to,"

"Don't bother," said Eric. He fixed a crooked file on his desk. "If she's running, I don't care to know where. But I do want to make certain that is the case. That she ran. Look into it, tell me what you find. And remember that I'm paying for your discretion,"

Kimberly bowed. "Of course Sheriff."

When she still hadn't left, he asked somewhat impatiently, "What now?"

"Well, Sheriff Northman, that's just it. We've yet to discuss payment. This wasn't exactly the usual job,"

"You can speak to my progeny about payment," said Eric. He left them in his office to negotiate—no one was better at negotiating payment than Pam—and found his place on the throne. He checked his phone—it had rung during his meeting with Kimberly Smith—and scanned through the updates the team of vampires he'd sent to retrieve Peter Burnham had sent. They'd located the site of the church Sasha Buckley had outlined.

Eric pocketed his phone and scanned the club for any signs of trouble. Brave (and incredibly stupid) human protesters had been attempting to come in disguised as fangbangers recently, and he didn't want a repeat of the Fellowship of the Sun suicide bomber. Such incidents weren't popular, but it hadn't been an isolated incident, and he was weary of such a thing happening inside of his club. Once again he thought of how useful it would have been to have Sookie Stackhouse at his side, reading the minds of his human clients for trouble and then, when the doors were closed, to feed on and fuck as he pleased.

He forgot what he'd been thinking about as his eyes landed on a pair of legs across the room. Sometime while he'd been in his office, Sasha Buckley had arrived with the newborn. Her legs looked so long for someone so tiny, and he was very appreciative of the strappy silver heels that encased her legs from her toes up to her knees. She wore what was unmistakably a man's band-t, the black material just long enough to be dress on her, cinched at the waist by a corset belt. Half of those long curls of hers that carried her scent so strongly were pilled away from her face. The rest were down.

Eric watched her, listening as his bartender, Daniel, flirted shamelessly with her. Daniel was showing off his skills by flipping bottles of alcohol through the air and catching them with his eyes closed. Sasha teased him that those tricks would be far more impressive if he were human.

Pamela joined him not long after. In his native tongue, he told her, " _That was fast,_ "

" _She likes me_ ," Pam said smugly. " _And I got you a fair price._ "

" _You always do,_ " said Eric, unsurprised.

" _Do you think we should be worrying? I get the feeling you don't actually believe she ran,_ " said Pam. " _Because I'm not so sure I do,_ "

" _We will have to wait on what Kimberly Smith finds,_ " said Eric. " _But yes, if it turns out that the Queen didn't run, if something befell her… we should remain on our guard,_ "

Pam agreed, her hand slipping down his cheek in a fleeting, affectionate gesture. Eric grabbed her hand before she could completely retract it and pressed a kiss to her palm. Then his eyes returned to Sasha Buckley.

" _Do we have any friends in California?_ " he asked her.

Pam thought for a moment. " _You don't. But I do. You'd like her. She's originally Swedish and good with her tongue,"_ she said with a smirk. " _Why_?"

" _Reach out to her and ask if she knows anything about Sasha Buckley. If she really did live in a nest, unclaimed and unbonded, rumors must have circled around California. Let me know what your…friend…says,_ "

"As you wish, master," Pam said. Her tone was a little sour, and he turned to shoot a questioning glance her way. She rarely addressed him as master, these days, only when he was reprimanding her or she was feeling particularly petulant.

"Pam?"  
Pam rolled her eyes, placing her hands on her delicate hips and turning a remarkably serious expression on. " _You know I don't like to question you, but the last time you got involved with a girl that ended up being unnatural it brought us a lot of trouble. You can understand why I'm weary,"_

" _Sookie ended up useful to me,_ " said Eric, looking away.

" _Useful,_ " scoffed Pam, smacking her painted lips. " _Even if that were true, she was more trouble than she was worth. She made you soft, and it risked your life more than once._ My _life, Eric,_ "

Anger sizzled in him, his natural instinct as a maker urging him to remind her not to take such a tone with him. But Pam was right, and so he did not snap at her like he might have. Instead he dipped his head curtly, his nostrils flared as he attempted to reign in the sudden heat inside of him.

" _I'm aware. I made mistakes when it came to Sookie Stackhouse. I won't do the same with this one,_ " said Eric. " _It's not the same._ "

" _I hope for both our sakes it isn't,"_ said Pam. She flounced off, leaving him alone on the stage.

Eric's eyes returned to Sasha and the newborn, Jack. Pam was right of course. With the AVL breathing down their necks, it would not do to bring down any more attention on them. He was certain Nan Flanagan was just itching for an excuse to approve his death warrant, and now was the time to lay low and do everything by the book.

But Eric was also a schemer and he was one curious motherfucker. For as long as Sasha Buckley was in his territory he had a right as Sheriff to investigate her, and that was what he would do. It could be nothing, or it could be something. Only time would tell.

As he watched, Jack laughed at something Daniel said. Sasha sported a loose grin and a roll of her eyes as she sipped her beer.

 _There is something about her,_ Eric decided. His gut, so rarely wrong, told him as such. Vampires, naturally, were at the top of the food chain when it came to supes. Werewolves could match them in strength and speed, but a vampire's ability to made them invariably more power. Shifters were far and few in between, other weres only marginally more common, and certainly nowhere as powerful or threatening as werewolves. Witches had once posed a problem for vampires, but vampires and other beings had considerably slashed their numbers over the centuries. One of the most powerful lines had been extinguished in the 17th century, when a Spanish witch had posed one of the greatest threats to vampires in vampire history. Fae were even rare, as they barely occupied their realm. There were other things here and there, like the maenad, and invariably they were drawn to Bon Temps.

It wouldn't stand against reason that Sasha Buckley was a supe, and therefore she too was drawn to Bon Temps. But what was she? Whatever it was, Eric was prepared to link to the magnetism he swore she possessed. She was charming, yes, but it couldn't be something as simple as that. She drew eyes and attention everywhere she went.

As though to prove Eric's theory, a vampire sidled up to Sasha's side. He was stocky in built, with a thick neck and strong, broad shoulders. His brunet hair was cut in a buzz cut, and he wore a V-neck shirt. When he bent towards Sasha and propositioned her with a quick whispered word to her ear, Eric was quite certain the vampire was out of luck.

"I'm not interested," he hears Sasha say, tone polite but firm as she turned back to the bar. The vampire, Eric only knew him by sight, didn't leave. Jack frowned, his eyes on the nonexistent space between Sasha and the burly vampire. The newborn was protective of her as a bloodhound.

"Come on, she's not interested," said Daniel. His tone was light, but even from across the bar Eric could tell he was weary of the other vampire.

"Fuck off, bartender. I'm twice your age," said the vampire. His hand smacked down on Sasha's ass, groping strongly enough that a flash of pain followed by disgust crossed her features. "You're coming home with me, human,"

Jack's reaction was immediate. The newborn was off his barstool in a flash, his fangs extended as he snarled at the offending vampire. The vampire snickered.

"Don't tell me this little newborn has a claim on you. You smell like sugar and roses, but you don't smell like vampire, "

" _Jack_ ," Sasha said sharply, her back to the vampire now as she stared up at the newborn, her hand on his chest. Her eyes were wide, blatantly telling him to back off. But Jack continued to snarl on the precipice of losing it, and the muscles in Eric's body tensed to intervene. Blood may very well be shed, and it might be Sasha's if Jack didn't control himself. The idiot girl was still between the two vampires, and she didn't look poised to move anytime soon.

"Yeah, Jackie boy. Back off!" taunted the vampire.

Sasha sent a vehement glare over her shoulder. "And you, back the fuck off,"

"Listen here, you uppity little bitch," hissed the vampire, gripping her harshly by the elbow. "If you think you can—"

Jack lunged at him, knocking the older vampire down in surprise. The crowd around them quickly scattered, vampires and humans alike looking on in interest. Still Eric didn't act; a little drama was good for business, and no blood had been spilled yet, though he knew he needed to intervene before Jack came to true harm, or one of the human patrons.

The vampire batted Jack off of him like an annoying gnat, but before he could get up, Sasha stood over him, the gleaming toe of her silver heel pressing on his chest, the thin heel hovering over his heart.

"Wanna find out if the heels of my Jimmy Choos are coated in silver?" she asked coldly.

Even Eric's eyebrows shot up, and he knew that now was the time to intervene. Whispers broke out in the bar. A human threatening the life of a vampire would not go down well for anybody. He was standing in the middle of the crowd in a second, his hand firmly on the back of Jack's neck, as the cub threatened to lunge again.

"Enough," commanded Eric lazily. The vampires that had been staring at once turned away, casually urging their human companions to do the same by drawing them to the dance floor or further down the bar. Eric nodded at Daniel, telling him to return to work. His hand had been poised over one of the stakes strapped under the bar.

To Sasha, he said, "I'd ask if you're okay… but you seem just fine."

And she did. She hadn't moved, her fierce glare locked on the vampire that had dared touch her. Eric let her have her moment; women were always having to deal with untoward male attention, and vampire or not, Eric praised when a women when she defended herself against it. But enough was enough, and this was not the place, even if there was something very sexy about her little Valkyrie-like attitude.

"Sasha," he prompted.

"Eric," she said, tone icy. Her eyes finally flicked to him, and he was surprised to find they held just as much ire as her tone. Why was she angry with _him?_ "Did your ass fall sleep sitting on that throne of yours?"

Any small flame of sympathy or compassion he might have felt was extinguished. His eyes hardened and his grip on the newborn released in exchange for Sasha's upper arm.

" _Leave_ ," he snarled down at the vampire on the floor. Then he was in the back alley, slamming Sasha Buckley up against the brick of the building. Her eyes widened in surprise, a gasp escaping past her lips. The quick blinking of her eyes told her that she was dazed from the sudden change of environment. It didn't last long, as her eyes slowly narrowed as she glared up at him.

For a moment, he wondered just how she could possibly be angry with him. He was her superior in every way. She should have been frightened prey, terrified before the might of the hunter. But instead she was just as angry as he was—he could smell it in the spike of spiciness in her scent—and she didn't look at all intimidated by him. Another mistake.

"Please get your hands off of me," said Sasha. She bit the words off through gritted teeth, and he scoffed. If this was her attempt at being polite and respectful, she needed to try a lot harder.

The problem, he realized now, was that Sasha was a young woman with bigger balls than most men he knew, but a human all the same. The vampires she had run with might have taught her their ways, informed her of their world, but they had to be either very young or very spineless, coddling her so that she believed she could walk around and act as she pleased. Maybe she just forgot she wasn't vampire.

Eric's hand released her arm, and he allowed her a brief exhale of relief before his hand wrapped around her throat. His long fingers fit easily around the column of her slender neck, and he filed away the perfect fit for later.

"I'll let go of you when I'm done," said Eric. She was in no real danger from him, not yet anyway. But she didn't need to know that. His sadism wasn't born of boredom or delicate enough to be riled up by a simple slight; no, he reserved his blood thirst for those who truly deserved it. If, for example, she decided to take wood or silver to him, they would be having a very different conversation right not.

She attempted to speak, but his hand tightened around her throat in warning. She got the hint and went slack, though her eyes burned as she glared at him, like she would burn him alive if she only had the power.

The times that they'd met, he'd read her as a prudent girl. It was apparent in the way that she held herself, the way she spoke with others. There was always a hint of caution and she was always a little reserved; her eyes would take in her surroundings, the people in it. He saw her do it at his club both times she'd been there. But whatever prudence she possessed, Eric thought that something about him made her forget it when it should have doubled in weariness.

"I don't care where the fuck you came from or who the fuck you thought you were there," said Eric. His tone was low, threatening, and communicated that he was not to be fucked with. "You are in _my_ territory, and not only am I Sheriff, but I am a one thousand year old being. If you don't think you can respect that, you'll find that your stay in _my_ Area will be extremely unpleasant. You're appealing. Charming even, but don't think for one fucking second that I won't drain you within an inch of your life if you disrespect me or my authority in my own club again. Are we clear?"

"Oh? So you don't mind behind closed doors?" she asked him spitefully. Eric groaned, teeth scraping over his bottom lip as the hand at her throat moved down to grip her hip tightly enough he was sure his fingertips would bruise her skin. _Good,_ he thought. Let her have a mark to remember their encounter by.

"Sasha Buckley," he murmured lowly, leaning forward to brush his nose against the side of her throat. He inhaled her intoxicating scent, letting his aching fangs descend. She shivered in response; her first intelligent reaction that night it seemed. Slowly, carefully, he raked the tips of his fangs across her skin, even if he wanted nothing more than to break through flesh and let her hot blood flood his mouth. "Sasha, I'm trying very hard to give you the opportunity to apologize and nod like you understand so that I don't have to do something you'll regret,"

His nose came to the spot just below her ear, where the scent of her hair and skin and blood mingled. It wasn't the only scent in the air, because right there with her anger—fear was somewhat amusingly (infuriatingly?) absent—there was just a hint of sweet, sweet arousal. Eric had to resist the urge to place an open mouth kiss to her skin, to taste its flavor on his tongue. Would she recoil or would she lean into his touch?

No. He was here to remind her just who was in charge, and he didn't think that fucking Sasha Buckley into the best goddam orgasm of her life would register as a proper punishment for her behavior.

Eric leaned away from her, though his hand remained firmly on her supple hip, its pressure a physical reminder that he could and would overpower her in everyway.

"You understand what I'm saying, right?"

When she said yes, Eric was certain it took all her strength just to utter the word. He withheld a smirk; there it was, another aspect of her character. She was prideful.

"I apologize for questioning your authority," said Sasha. He was impressed but unsurprised that she met his gaze head on as she uttered the words. "I shouldn't have done that,"

"No, you shouldn't have," murmured Eric. "I'd ask if you regret it, but I think I'll let you off the hook just this once, since I think we both know the answer,"

Glaring up at him through those thick, thick lashes of hers, she said, "Thank you, Sheriff Northman,"

Just like it had the night before when they'd been sitting across from each other at Merlotte's when she'd called him _Monsieur Northman_ , his cock twitched with sudden interest in the conversation. Eric had never had a preference for certain titles in bed; being called _sir_ , for instance, had never been a kink of his, because whether his partner was human or vampire, he was always indisputably in charge. Sasha though, she was proud and she apparently liked to strut around like some sort of alpha cub. He thoroughly enjoyed bending her will to his, simply because she put up an enticing fight.

"The mouth on you, Miss Buckley," he murmured. Her response was cut off as his hand on her waist dropped lower to her thigh, slipping under the material of her t-shirt dress. Looking her straight in her eyes—really, green or gold? Which did he prefer?—his hand trailed down the outside of her thigh (her skin was so soft and heated he was nearly distracted from his purpose) until it was under the back of her knee. With a sharp jerk of his hand her knee was up around his waist. Her mouth fell open as their hips collided.

" _Eric_ —"

"Huh," he cut her off, smirking down at her. His hand had continued on down from her knee, down the strap of her heel lining her calf, until it reached the heel of her shoe. It remained there, unburned. "You know, I actually believed there was a chance your heel was coated in silver,"

He spoke slowly, casually, like he wasn't basking in her obvious reaction to him or the hardness in his pants pressing against her core. She tried hard to remain unaffected, he gave her that much as he listened to her heart stuttered and then regain its proper beat, but she couldn't hide the desire her eyes proved, the way her pupils had dilated. Finally, something predictable about this girl.

"I d-do," Sasha stammered, somewhat dazed by his proximity. "I mean, at home. I have a pair of Louboutins with a solid silver heel,"

"See, that doesn't surprise me," said Eric. His hand dropped her heel, and she unhooked her leg from his waist. He stepped back, noting with satisfaction that she looked relieved by the space, and moved to stand with his arms crossed. "We need to talk about the newborn. He almost started a fight in my club, one he certainly wouldn't have won. He needs to be disciplined,"

"He needs to feed," said Sasha, adjusting her dress and pushing away from the wall. He pretended not to see her stumble when her legs shook a little, but satisfaction blossomed in him anyway.

"I saw you enjoying my bar, but I didn't see Jack do the same," pointed out Eric.

"Of course not. He needs real, proper blood," said Sasha. She brushed dust from the wall he'd had her against off the back of her clothes, and he was grateful she wasn't looking at him because his surprise showed. It seemed he couldn't get the look off his face fast enough.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. He's a newborn. It's unfair and unnatural to force him to live off of the synthetic stuff, especially straight away," said Sasha. "If further down the line he changes his mind, well, his diet is his business as long as he's respecting law and not harming anyone for their blood,"

She redeemed herself a little with that one sentence. She didn't simply tolerate that his kind drank blood. She accepted it. It wasn't even something universally common with the fangbangers that hung around his club; knowing vampires required blood and seeing it, feeling it was completely different. The young ones especially, they regarded blood so cavalierly, until the first drops fell anyway. And then there were the humans that failed to realize that blood was never just blood, that whether human or vampire, blood carried truths beyond genetics and science.

"Are you offering up a vein?" asked Eric, mostly to bother her. He knew her answer already.

"No," she said easily. "That's partly why I brought him here,"

"Patrons aren't allowed to feed here," said Eric. He ran a hand through his hair, somewhat frustrated. Their every encounter built the sexual tension between them, and yet it was never resolved. Worse of all, Eric felt there was a power struggle between them, which was ridiculous because they were nowhere near the same level. Even if she was supe—or part supe, she was somewhere below him. So what was it about her? "Not on my property. I run a very clean operation, especially with the shit that's been going on lately,"

"Fair. But is it against the rules to pick up a willing donor? It's not just human blood he needs. He needs to learn how to feed correctly, and how to control himself," argued Sasha. "It's out of your hands once it leaves your club, right?"

Once again she was right, but he cocked an eyebrow at her all the same. There was still one glaring hole there. "Oh, and you'll be the one to teach him and supervise if something goes wrong?"

Her cheeks flushed, a flicker of heated anger in her eyes. "Between my theory and his instincts I'm sure we'll be fine. Unless you were offering your services, Sheriff?"

Eric stared off down the alley for a moment. The summer air was still stifling, enough that even he was bothered by the humidity so much he breathed only to speak or to pick up on Sasha's scent. Light from the overhanging moon lit the alley into all its ugly glory.

"The club closes at two on weekdays," Eric said finally. "You'll stick around until then. When everything's shut down, I will teach young Jack how to feed like a vampire,"

She nodded, wisely seeing that there was nothing to argue. They returned to the club, and she had the good sense to trail behind him, looking far more subdued than she had all night. Sasha wouldn't realize it, but she also had his scent all over her, and he knew it would be enough to satisfy the vampire onlookers that had seen her question his authority. They'd assume he roughed her up a bit, or had his way with her to remind her who was in charge.

Either suited him.

* * *

"You okay?" Jack asked as soon as he sat next to her. Pam had taken him to the back room to cool down while she'd been outside with Eric. Ignoring the stares of the bar's patrons, Sasha had kept her head down and found a small table in a corner of the bar under the ventilation system. That would at least, make it harder to overhear them. She made a note of suggesting he learned another language.

"I'm fine," she reassured him. "Really,"

Jack looked dubious, because newborn or not, he understood that her protective instincts had overshadowed her caution, just as his own had, and that she'd crossed a dangerous line in threatening that vampire. She didn't think that now was the time to explain that she'd gotten off very lightly—and disappointingly, not at all. The thought brought heat to her cheeks. Now was also not the time to ponder that she'd gotten _turned on_ by Eric Northman's threats, or to think of his deliciously hard body pressed against hers.

 _So no the time, Sash._

"Hey Sasha? I know you got in trouble, but that was, that was the most badass thing I've ever seen," admitted Jack. Sasha grinned at him, taking a sip of her beer. Daniel had dropped it off with a friendly wink once she'd sat back down. She found she really liked the bartender.

"Speaking of badass," said Sasha. "I appreciate you trying to step in, but you definitely can't go around challenging other vampires. Not only are you bound to be the youngest thing in here, you're also still not fully in control of yourself. We talked about this. Emotions, they're incredibly volatile for you now,"

"Yeah, I know, I know. But I couldn't let it slide. That guy was such a jerk. And he had no right touching you," argued Jack.

Sasha smiled fondly at Jack. "You're going to be all right, kid,"

When the bar shut down as promised, Eric Northman sauntered over to their small table.

"Ready to feed like a real vampire, young Jack?" asked Eric.

Jack nodded nervous once again. "Who am I going to, um, feed on? I don't want to bite Sasha again,"

"No?" asked Eric, faintly amused. "But she smells so delicious,"  
Jack frowned, and Sasha put a hand on his forearm. "I'm sure Eric has a _willing_ donor on hand for you,"

"That I do," said Eric. Over his shoulder, he barked, "Ginger!"  
The woman cleaning up behind the bar looked up, eyes going positively gaga when she saw who had called her. She was a tiny, scrawny thing and, Sasha thought, a bit of a hot mess. It was hard to place her age—she looked than what her skimpy outfit suggested, but good all the same. Her hair was bottle-blonde and she wore the tiniest pair of shorts Sasha had ever seen, and impressively high-heeled she somehow managed to practically bounce in, despite them not looking too secure on her small feet. She had an incredibly bright, sweet smile.

She also had bite marks were visible on her neck and arms.

"Ginger, this is Sasha Buckley," said Eric, gesturing to Sasha with a tilt of his head.

"Hi," said Ginger, Louisiana accent gushing. "You need more drinks?"

"I don't know about Sasha, but her friend, Jack might," said Eric. "Ginger, meet Jack,"

Jack's eyes flicked away from Ginger's neck up to Eric. A transformation was slowly taking in his features. The sweet, youthful boy Sasha knew was being overtaken by sharpness, by a predator with gleaming, hungry eyes. "Are you hungry, Jack?" purred Eric.

Jack licked his lips, nodding vigorously. "Yes,"

"Ginger, care to allow young Jack here to bite you?"

She squealed disconcertingly high, clapping her hands together. "Sure thing, Eric," said Ginger. Looking at her, Sasha thought that the bartender would do just about anything to please the Viking. She was certain this woman had been a fangbanger for quite sometime. She might actually be _the_ original modern day fangbanger.

"Okay, now wait a minute," said Sasha. "You're her boss,"

"Observant, are you?" asked Eric.

" _And_ is it really fair of you to ask for her blood? She might not feel like saying _no_ to her vampire employer," said Sasha. She was somewhat surprised when Eric grinned.

Ginger let out a laugh so high-pitched Sasha started and Jack cringed. "Oh, you don't need to worry about little old me! I've been around these vamps for years! I'm really well compensated for my efforts around here," said Ginger. "We're all basically family around here,"

Sasha was still skeptical of it all, but she could see that Jack's instincts were winning out, willing him to appease his hunger. She said nothing more as Ginger came to stand before Jack. She tilted her neck to the side dutifully. There was something so… dirty and impersonal about it all. Sasha was aware that her emotional, romantic nature had no place here now, but she might have preferred something different for Jack, where he could first talk to his donor, understand what it meant to be granted their blood. She shifted a little uncomfortably, ignoring the look Eric sent her way.

Jack's fangs extended, his excitement so strong it was practically palpable. Still, his nerves were strong enough to hesitate his instinct, and Sasha saw he wasn't quite so sure what to do with himself, with his hands. But his eyes were still trained with deadly precision on the vein in Ginger's neck.

"Why don't you start with her wrist, Jack?" Sasha suggested softly. Eric growled lowly, perhaps telling her to back off, but she ignored him. Jack's eyes, now so dark there was only a faint ring of blue visible, most swiftly to her questioningly. "Less chance of a mistake that way,"

Through his hunger, Sasha saw a note of understanding in Jack's eyes. She was proud of his effort—it was apparent before her very eyes that he was trying very hard to remain conscious through the urge to give in to his primal compulsion to simply feed. Ginger offered her wrist, and Jack reached for it, wrapping his fingers around the thin limb. He brought it up to his mouth slowly, almost reverently, and his fangs had just grazed her flesh when he stopped.

"Will it hurt her?" asked Jack. His eyes flicked up to Ginger. "Um, you?"

"You will learn how to make a bite pleasurable," said Eric. His tone was dismissive. "It takes practice,"

"You'll be fine. It's all instinct, I'm sure. Also, I've been drinkin'. I won't feel a thing, kid,"

Sasha glared at the Sheriff. She wasn't vampire herself, but she'd spoken to vampires about the feeding process before, and she knew that Eric was holding out on Jack. While she understood that Eric wanted to let Jack learn for himself, she didn't think it was fair that he learned at the expense of poor Ginger. Maybe if she'd been a vampire too she wouldn't have given it another thought; but contrary to what Eric liked to accuse her of, she was very much aware of her pulse. Her neck, though it had healed over nicely, still ached a bit from Jack's messy bite from that night in the cemetery.

"Remember that she's human," Sasha murmured quietly. She edged to his side. "And that you were too not so long ago. Remember that, as powerful and otherworldly as you've become, her blood has become a necessity in your life. Respect that blood, and respect her life—"

"Miss Buckley," snapped Eric, and she was taken aback by the unexpected fury in his low tone. "Unless it is to show me that you too have a pair fangs, I expect your mouth to remain shut,"

Sasha fell silent, cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. But she remained quiet as he had commanded. Jack didn't, swelling as he rose away from Ginger's wrist once more.

"Hey, don't talk to her like that," spat Jack, hunger turning to crackling anger in his blue eyes. His chin was immediately caught in Eric's large hand. Jack winced in pain.

"No, don't _you_ talk to _me_ that way," said Eric. His tone was that low, dangerous one again. "You are a newborn, and I am your superior in every way. This girl here, she is human. She is not your maker, and if you continue to treat her as such, you will look weak in the eyes of every vampire you come across. Remember _that_ , young Jack."

"Now," said Eric, letting go of Jack. "Feed, newborn."

Jack took a second to compose himself, and then he raised Ginger's wrist to his mouth. He took in in a deep breath, and then he bit down into her wrist.

* * *

 **Hi guys! So this is definitely the longest chapter to date, and also the longest interaction between Sasha and Eric, which I had a lot of fun with.**

 **HUGE thanks to those that reviewed this story! It's really nice to hear feedback, because sometimes it gets a little disheartening seeing my work gets a lot of views but not many comments given how much work I put into it each chapter. I won't ever withhold chapters for a certain number of reviews, but I am extra grateful to those that leave reviews. It's nice to have a bit of dialogue instead of just screaming into the void that is the internet lol.**

 **This chapter was dedicated to reviewer 'Proserpinae' because their review inspired some Ginger scenes I hadn't originally planned, but will now just have to include in future chapters. Thank you!**

 **Chapter Eight will be called, "Eric Northman Has A Fucking Dungeon" and will feature a hint of what I'm starting to call daddy!Eric. Take that as you will.**


	8. Chapter 8

**CONTENT WARNING: THOUGHT NOT EXPLICIT, IMPLICIT CONTENT TOWARD THE END OF THIS CHAPTER OF THE NON FUN-SEXY VARIETY**

* * *

 **Chapter 8: The Good, The Bad, And The Bloody**

Ginger whimpered, wincing. Jack glanced up at her from her wrist, but Ginger waved a manicured hand his way. "No, no, you're fine kid, eat on," she told him. Not needing many assurances, Jack bowed back down over her wrist, and Ginger smiled brightly at Sasha.

"So, you're not his human?" Ginger asked conversationally, like a newborn vampire wasn't currently chomping down on her wrist. Sasha was a little impressed—and disturbed—by her nonchalance. Eric's phone vibrated, and he stepped away to give it his attention.

"No, I'm not," said Sasha. Her eyes were on Eric's back. "I'm his…friend,"

"Oh, well that's neat," said Ginger. She followed her gaze, perking up a little when she saw where her attention lay.

"Isn't he something?" Ginger asked reverently. "I ain't ever seen a more handsome fella than him. I just wish I could get him in one of my movies," she said wistfully.

Sasha quirked an eyebrow at her. "And when you say movies, you mean…?"

"I'm a filmmaker!" Ginger said excitedly. "You should check out my website. I post a lot of shorts there. I've even been featured at the Shreveport Film Festival,"

Pleasantly surprised, Sasha grinned. "That's cool. Do you write your own stuff?"

"Yeah," said Ginger. "Except the commercials for Fangtasia. I get to shoot all of 'em, but Pam and Eric come up with most of the content,"

"Is that how you came to work for vampires?" Sasha asked curiously. There was no mistaking that this woman was a fangbanger, but she had a surprising streak of ordinary about her.

"Oh, not at all," said Ginger. "I mean, movies, yeah. This place used to be a movie rental store, can you believe? I had a term paper to write and I came in lookin' for some films and then I met Pam, and then Eric and I just _knew_ , you know? It was the eighties, so they weren't out or nothing, but I always knew there was more out there. So I got myself hired on the spot, and moved here,"

Okay, so maybe not all that ordinary. It was a lttle funny trying to picture Pam and Eric running a video rental store. She couldn't imagine it at all. Off to the side of the bar, Eric snapped his fingers in her direction, successfully getting her attention. He nodded to Jack. Sasha frowned, not liking the expression that Eric wore. But she understood the message all the same, and turned to Jack.

"Jack? I think that's enough for now," she told him.

For a moment she didn't think Jack had heard her, but then he stumbled away from Ginger, blood smearing his mouth and chin. Sasha stepped forward in concern, but he held his hands to stave her off.

"Just—just give me a sec," he told her. His eyes were wild, burning with hunger, and he shut them tightly. Her frown deepened, but she did as he asked and kept her distance. Snowflakes kissed their way down her spine, and she knew Eric was standing right behind her. Sure enough, when she moved her chin over her shoulder, he was hovering close to her, watching Jack carefully.

"I'm fine," called out Jack, perhaps sensing their eyes on him. "Really, I am. I just…need a second. That was more overwhelming than I expected,"

"Let's move to my office," said Eric. "Ginger, clean yourself up,"

Ginger, who was eyeing Jack like he was a teddy bear, smiled brightly at him. "Aw, no need to thank me kid. I'm told I'm really, really good,"

"Um, yeah, thanks Ginger,"  
"Anytime, kid!"

Eric steered them back into his office, shutting the door behind him. Sasha's attention was on Jack. He'd moved to a corner of Eric's office, his back to her. Eric came to stand behind her.

In French, Eric said to Sasha quietly, " _I just received word from my team. They have successfully apprehended his maker. They will be here with him shortly,_ "

Sasha shivered from the chill of his nearness and his breath hitting the shell of her ear. She folded her arms across her chest, nodding in understanding.

She watched as Jack came back to himself. While she hadn't doubted Eric, and though she'd trusted that the information that she'd gathered on Peter would be useful, she hadn't expected for Peter Burnham to be arrested so quickly. She wasn't sure if it was better or worse that this was happening now, while Jack was still on a feeding high.

"Jack?" she asked hesitantly. When he looked at her, she was relived to see that he was right. He was in control of himself. "Peter is in custody. He's being brought here now,"

Strife broke out across Jack's face, and the hint of color that had blossomed in his cheeks from Ginger's blood faded. It began to well up at the corners of his eyes. Jack quickly blinked, looking away and running a nervous hand through his hair. Sasha glanced at Eric, then moved in the direction of the newborn.

"Jack, listen to me. You don't have to see Peter if you don't want to. It's entirely up to you, understand?" she told him. "Whatever you choose to do, be strong. He doesn't deserve anything, from you, least of all your tears."

She was somewhat surprised when, rather than reprimand her, Eric Northman cleared his throat and fixed Jack with the softest look she had ever seen on him. He was still hard as marble beneath, but there was no mistaking the sheer force of his genuine compassion as it shone in at his eyes.

"Miss Buckley is correct," said Eric. Even his voice had softened some. "If I were in your position, I'd want to tear him apart myself. But you don't have to acknowledge him at all. You have options open to you,"

"Those being?" Jack asked mournfully. His fangs were out again, and he was speaking around them with some difficulty. Sasha wanted to pull him into a hug, but she didn't dare touch him when he was so clearly on the cusp of control. Eric didn't seem to believe her capable of such self restraint, because as her body tensed, he fisted the back of her t-shirt to keep her in place.

Sasha, for all her knowledge of vampire ways and custom, couldn't even begin to fathom what Jack was currently experiencing. Humans were incredible for their emotive capabilities, but when it came to the feelings of blood bonds, vampires beat them out. She couldn't comprehend what Jack was likely feeling now, even as a released vampire. Did he feel an emptiness that he couldn't fill or shut out? Did he still wish for Peter to take him in as his progeny?

"By vampire law, he will meet the true death," explained Eric. He was no longer sarcastic or flirtatious, no longer flexing his power or reveling in his own arrogance. In that moment, Sasha felt genuine respect for him. He was being compassionate, something that she wouldn't expect of most in his position. His demeanor was helping Jack to keep calm. "You can choose to bare witness, or you can simply walk away,"

"I…I know this is fucked up, but I don't want him to die," Jack admitted helplessly. His features screwed up. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

"It is normal to have such conflicting feelings. Even if your bond is no longer, you recognize that he gave you his blood and turned you into what you are now," said Eric. "That is difficult to shake, no matter the circumstance."

"There's no way?" Can't he, can't he go to vampire jail or something?" asked Jack.

When Eric remained silent, Sasha frowned. There was a way of course that Jack might be spared, though she was against it. It seemed that the Sheriff was too, because he simply stared at Jack. But Sasha refused to keep him in the dark, because whether they liked it or not, this was now, Jack's world. He had every right to know, and he'd find out some day.

"There's a way," admitted Sasha. Her nose wrinkled at Eric's withering glare. She could feel it burning into her. "But there's every chance it would end with your death,"

"What is it?" asked Jack.

Ignoring Eric's eyes boring holes into her and the fact that his hold on her had tightened considerably, so much so she thought if she moved she might find herself with the back of her t-shirt dress. "Given the circumstances, as Peter's progeny you have the right to challenge. If he wins, he would be within his right to stake you… a life for a life. If he lost, you would have the right to stake him, or spare him to a reduced sentence according to the current law of the territory. I'm not sure what those would be here in Louisiana, but in California if you chose to spare Peter's life, he would be silvered and buried a year for every day he left you to fend for your self," Her eyes flicked to Eric, then quickly back to Jack. "It's, it's a bit of an awful law, really. It's archaic and barbaric and it plays unfairly on a progeny's instinctual need to protect their maker,"

"Now how the fuck do you know about _that_?" asked Eric. For once he sounded more stunned, if a little exasperated, and not suspicious and angry. Sasha shrugged defensively.

"I thought you had me looked into. You knew I was a historian," she told him.

"But a _vampire_ historian?" he asked skeptically, lifting a brow as he gazed down at her. "Really?"

"Now?" she asked in disbelief, glancing back to Jack.

"Miss Buckley is, incredibly enough, once again correct. However, as you must know, the odds of you overpowering you are practically nonexistent. He's certainly not worth you life,"

"Agreed," said Sasha.

Jack chewed on his bottom lip, gnawing on it so hard it split and healed in a matter of seconds. He began pacing, mulling over the new information.

" _You had to say something? What, prove you always know everything?"_ asked Eric, his lilting French laced with accusation. She turned to him, eyes narrowing.

" _You don't really think that, do you?_ " she asked. " _He's vampire. He has a right to know._ "

" _A very romantic notion. If he chooses to do something stupid, it will be on your conscious, not mine,"_ said Eric. He was right of course, but Sasha also thought he was underestimating Jack's humanity. She could tell that he thought the newborn too weak, too in possession of his humanity. And for someone that had been through so much, Jack was extraordinarily human, even now that he had this awesome power inside of him. But Sasha had faith that his very humanity would lead him to spare himself and not Peter. His humane ability to forgive himself would overcome his progeny's instinct to save his maker.

He stopped in front of Eric. They were the same height; Jack was so lanky and had such terrible posture he still appeared smaller than the Viking.

"Would you want to give your maker the chance? If you were me?" asked Jack. "Because I loved him like he was, like he was my dad or something, before all of this. And I know he left me, but…" he laughed bitterly. "Who hasn't?"

"I have risked my life to save my maker's on numerous occasions. His death was the most painful thing I have ever experienced, even more painful than the turn," said Eric, and Sasha was struck by the open honesty there. "I loved my maker more than I loved my own life. He was an excellent maker, and I owe him everything. Peter is no Godric. Don't throw your life away for someone who was nothing more than a selfish blood donor,"

Jack nodded, his head falling. Sasha breathed in a sigh of relief. Eric finally let go of her and checked his phone once more.

"Peter has been secured downstairs," announced Eric. "It is up to you if you want to see this, Jack. I recommend you do, but you must make your choice now."

Sasha's advice was silenced by a searching look from Eric; damn could those blue eyes burn when he turned on the full cold heat of them. She wired her mouth shut, reminding herself that she wasn't with her vampires, but rather in a foreign territory run by a Sheriff that had already been all too kind to her. But she could tell his patience was running incredibly thin.

"I'll be there," Jack said quietly.

"Good," said Eric measuredly. He noted Sasha's squared jaw for a moment. "Come, Jack,"

They left Eric's office, and Sasha collapsed onto the couch. She sank against the surprisingly comfortable black leather. Eric was right, as much as she didn't want to admit it. There could be nothing said about Jack's choice not to challenge Peter, and he would appear weak to other vampires if he hid now from his maker's staking. Her problem was that she saw the newborn vampire in him every bit as much as she saw a seventeen-year-old boy.

Eric stuck his head back into the office, peering down at her expectantly.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Well what?" she asked.

"Suddenly you're opting out of vampire business? This is most unlike you, Miss Buckley. I didn't take you for someone with a weak stomach."

Sasha might not have a weak stomach, but she didn't have to have one not to want to see a vampire meet the true death. She'd never seen it happen, but she understood it to be an excessive mess. She didn't mind not having an invitation to this particular soirée.

"I'm not a part of this nest, seeing as I am neither vampire nor do I belong to a vampire of this Area," said Sasha, rising to her feet when he moved to stand before her. She didn't feel that being eye level with his belt buckle was helpful to making her feel any less intimidated.

Eric hummed, curving down towards her so that he could look her right in the eyes. "Oh, but I insist, Miss Buckley. You want to play vampire girl so bad, then fine. You get the good, the bad, and the blood."

She had understood him. Eric was sure of that. So he wasn't so sure why, after nodding in surrender, Sasha Buckley dropped back down onto the couch. Then she reached for the zipper running up her calf.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, watching as she delicately eased her feet out of the heels. The horizontal bands had left behind impressions against her legs, and he felt the urge to massage his hands over her skin, to soothe the ache she surely felt, and then continue up her legs, the her thighs—

"Taking my shoes off,"

His little fantasy fizzled as he rolled his eyes in exasperation. Between her and the newborn, he was very close to losing his patience.

"I can see that, thank you," he said curtly. " _Why_?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him as she worked on the second sandal. "There's no way I'm getting vampire guts on my new Jimmy Choos. You wouldn't happen to something lying around for me to wear, would you?"

"Took ya long enough," said Pam as he descended into the basement. Jack stood next to her, looking like he might be sick at any moment. He would need to learn to mask his emotions better than that.

"Blame the little princess," said Eric. "Didn't want to get her shoes dirty,"  
Pam glanced over his shoulder at Sasha, who was carefully making her way down the steps, black and red flip flops from the gift shop slapping obnoxiously against each stair. She shrugged.

"I saw her shoes earlier," said Pam. "I can't blame her,"

Eric shook his head, sidestepping his progeny and going over to the focus of the night. Peter Burnham had been strapped and silvered to a chair at the center of his dungeon, just as Eric had specified. A burlap sack covered head, stained and reeking of his blood. His torn and bloodied clothing showed similar signs that he had put up a struggle.

Other than the five of them, the basement was empty. Eric had chosen not to make a spectacle of Peter as he might ordinarily have, feeling a rare stroke of compassion for the young vampire, Jack. He wanted this over quickly. Pam would make sure word spread of what had happened, lest any of vampire in his Area need a reminder.

With a swift tug, Eric removed the burlap sack from Peter Burnham's head, laying his eyes on the vampire for the first time.

His hair was dirty blond, falling down to his shoulders. The style was similar to Jack's; Eric was willing to bet that the boy had modeled his own hair after this vampire's out of sheer admiration. He had small, watery blue eyes, and crusted blood dirtied a flat nose. The lines of his face were deep and harsh, making him appear older than the thirty-three years he had died at while human.

Eric leaned down until he was eye level with Peter. Peter met his gaze, trembling beneath its might.

"So this is the face of a coward," he said softly. He straightened up, moving back a little.

"Peter Burnham, you stand accused of the following crimes: feeding on minor Jack Connors, of turning aforementioned minor vampire, and of leaving your new progeny to fend for himself, Releasing him before he was given the proper tools and knowledge for survival therefore risking infringement of human feeding laws. How do you plead?"

"Mercy, please," begged the vampire. His eyes were wide, lips trembling. "I didn't mean to drain him. Please, if I could just explain—"

"Did you or did you not turn this boy?" asked Eric, pointing to Jack. Peter's eyes fell to the ground, refusing to look at his progeny.

"Did you?" repeated Eric. When Peter still didn't answer him, he strode forward, ripping Peter free of the chair he was bound to. Peter howled in pain as his skin sizzled beneath the bite of the silver chains still binding him. The rancid odor of cooking vampire flesh began to fill the dungeon. Eric slammed Peter to his knees before Jack, wrenching his hair back so that he was forced to gaze up newborn. "Did you or did you not turn him?" He hissed.

"I did," wept Peter. In a broken whisper, he said, "But I had to, I—I didn't want him to die and I'd drained him before I realized what I'd done!"

"Are you aware that under AVL and human law, in the state of Louisiana feeding on a human under the age of eighteen is illegal?" continued Eric. "Because I think you are,"

"Yes, yes, but—"

"And are you aware that, your act turning and Releasing him before explaining his new life to him is also illegal?"

"Please, Sheriff, surely a vampire as old as you are can understand—"

Eric's fist tightened in Peter's hair, pulling his head even further back. Eric pointed a finger at Pam. "That is my only progeny, and I have cared for her for over one hundred years. Never once have I thought of Releasing her, and never once have I considered turning a human unless I was prepared to act the part of maker. So no, Mr. Burnham, I do not understand,"

He felt eyes on him, and Eric quickly glanced up to find Sasha watching him. She was looking a little sick—he attributed that to Peter. But she was also weary, and he realized that was because of him. She hadn't expected his outburst, but then neither had he. Eric reigned in his emotions. He knew they stemmed from a single question: how was it that his maker was gone, when scum like Peter Burnham lived?

 _Well, not for long,_ thought Eric.

Eric moved to the small table in the back. A black box sat on its surface with a gold lock keeping it shut. Fishing out his keys from his pocket, Eric found the little gold key needed and fit it into its lock. Inside, in a bed of red satin, sat the ceremonial wooden stake used for executions. The stake was some fourteen inches long, and the wood, hawthorn, was stained dark rusty brown from previous stakings. Eric tested its weight in his hand. He hadn't used it in a while.

"Jack, if there's anything you wish to say to this vampire, now is the time,"

Sasha's hand left Jack's back as he took a tentative step forward. Eric had his back to them, and since he'd been dropped to his knees, Peter still refused to look at Jack. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she watched Jack slowly sink to his knees before his maker.

"I want to hate you," confessed Jack quietly. "But I can't. Maybe someday I will,"

Peter still said nothing. Sasha glanced at Pam; the woman, no longer dressed in her glitzy outfit, was now wearing a pastel pink tracksuit and an unimpressed expression. She examined her nails with mild interest.

"Um, I forgive you. For what you did to me," continued Jack. "I just—why did you Release me?"

Peter began trembling, and Sasha thought he was weeping, finally overcome by the weight of what he had done. But then he sat up straighter, and she saw he was laughing.

"You forgive me? _Forgiveness_ ," he spat, shaking his head. "What a human construct. Because of my father, I spent all of my human years seeking forgiveness and repenting and praying so that I wouldn't end up in hell. And for what? There is no hell, there is no heaven, there is only life and the true death. There is strength and there is weakness—you're not strong, Jack. You are weak. That is why I Released you. I tolerated you when you were human because you were useful to me. Your blood was exceptional and worth your bitching and whining. I chose to be merciful and I turned you—well, now look where that's gotten me,"

"What do you mean you tolerated him for his blood?" asked Sasha. Jack had explicitly told her that Peter had never wanted his blood, not until the night he had killed him. She did not believe he would lie, not when he had been so open about everything else.

"If he searches himself, he'll remember the truth," said Peter. His smile was cruel, and it made Sasha's skin crawl.

"I—I don't know what you're talking about," said Jack. He stumbled to his feet and backed away from Peter.

"Death removes all glamors, Jack. Think about it—what use would I have had for you? All those times I came to you, did you think it was because I liked you? Cared for you? Oh, you silly, silly boy," Peter laughed again, coughing up globs of blood as he did. He spat them on the ground at their feet. "Think, boy. _Think_ ,"

Sasha watched in horror as the vampire that had appeared so wounded and meek transformed into what he really was—a monster. Perhaps he had thought he could appeal to the Sheriff by coming across as weak and apologetic, but now that his tactic had clearly not worked, he knew he'd face the true death, and so he revealed himself.

"You put up a fight almost every time, especially when it wasn't blood I wanted," said Peter. "I liked that fight—Oh, you remember. I know you do,"

" _No._ That's not true," said Jack, shaking his head. He turned away, his hands clamped tightly over his head. He was breathing hard and shaking violently all over.

"You son of a bitch!" exclaimed Sasha. She started for Peter, but at a hiss from Eric Pam grabbed her, trapping her against her chest. "You fucking monster! I wish I'd never handed you over to the Sheriff! It if were up to me I'd—"

Her words were muffled as Pam clamped a hand over her mouth and drawled, "Shut up, chocolate cake," in her ear.

Eric had turned back around. His expression was blank, but his eyes told a different story. Sasha thought that, if they had not been present, perhaps he would have taken his time with this particular execution. He stalked back over to them. But Peter wasn't done, not now that he had started. It was like the floodgates of cruelty had opened up.

"You were talking so much that night, Jack! Moaning and bitching about your human family like I gave a shit—fuck's sake I just wanted you quiet! So I took more than I always did, and there you were, on the brink of death. I gifted you immortality, and this is the thank you I get? Now here you are, cowering behind this human bitch, doing what you do best! Yes, there they are, those tears!"

Sasha looked to Jack, seeing the bloody tracks down his cheeks. Jack stared back at Peter, agony and anguish twisting his features.

"I think that's enough out of you," decided Eric. He raised the stake up above his shoulder.

"Wait," called out Pam. "Let the kid do it,"

Sasha squirmed in Pam's arms. The vampire had yet to release her. Eric's gaze paused on Sasha, then continued further to Jack. But Jack was shaking his head. He didn't even appear capable of verbally disagreeing. Eric turned back to Peter.

"By the power and privilege I possess as Sheriff of Area 5, Louisiana I, Eric Northman, sentence Peter Burnham—"

"You won't make it as a vampire, Jack! I was right. You're weak!" interrupted Peter, cackling. "You'll never—"

Eric rolled his eyes, not bothering with protocol. He brought the stake down into Peter's chest. It sliced through cotton and flesh and pierced his heart. Eric pushed him and he fell a ways away on his back. For a moment Peter writhed in agony, then he exploded into guts and blood. Sasha started, flinching away, but Eric had pushed Peter far enough out that they were clear of the mess.

Pam released Sasha, and she threw herself at Jack, pulling him into a fierce hug. He cried into her neck, and she ran her fingers through his hair, murmuring promises that he would be all right, that together they would figure it all out.

It had been a long night, and mostly a blur, like an out of body experience. Sasha barely remembered Eric offering to drive them back to Bon Temps, hell, she barely remembered driving getting into the car and driving . She'd stayed in Jack's room with him until he'd cried himself to sleep and died for the day with the first few rays of the sun. Then she'd slipped into the bathroom and scrubbed his blood tears from her skin. As much as she knew that this wasn't about her, that this was all about Jack, Sasha couldn't help but be so strongly affected by the terrible turn of events. She'd known it would be difficult for Jack, especially once he chose to witness Peter's execution. But she—none of them—could have known that there was so much more to the story than even Jack knew.

Now, alone, Sasha let the tears fall. She cried for Jack, the boy that had only wanted a parent and found a predator of the worst kind. Then, selfishly, she cried for herself, wondering if she was somehow cursed. How could it be that the darkness she'd tried so hard to outrun had caught up with her? And like this?

Sasha woke up in the early afternoon to someone knocking on the front door. For a moment she was disoriented; between the headache pounding in her head and her eyes being puffy and unfocused, it took her a few moments to clear her head. She dragged herself out of bed, fixing the strap of her tank top as she went.

"Afternoon, Sasha," Sam Merlotte grinned at her, though it faded as he drank her in. "I'm sorry, this a bad time?"

"No, it's fine. Sorry I'm a mess," she told him. She shut the door behind herself and stepped out onto the porch with him. While she knew that they wouldn't wake Jack up, habit prevented her from inviting an unknown human into the den of a sleeping vampire. "What's up?"

"I wasn't gonna say nothing until I saw you at Merlotte's but…" Sam sighed. "Look, I don't have a problem with you. But I've gotten a few calls from Maxine Fortenberry, and she's complained a fair bit,"

"Fortenberry," repeated Sasha. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"You met her son the other day at the bar," said Sam. "He's friends with Jason Stackhouse, dating one of my waitresses, the vampire?"

"Oh! Yeah he was sweet," said Sasha, remembering. "Wait, complaints?"

"She said something about you having 'inapproiate company' coming in and out of the house late at night, and that you stay out all night—look, I don't care, as long as the house is fine and you're not disturbing the neighbors. I just wanted to give you the heads up. Maxine's a real piece of work, she lives across the street, two houses over," said Sam, pointing out the house. "She's already got my number 'cause of this thing with my brother and—" Sam sighed loudly, shaking his head. "Just wanted to give you a heads up,"

Sasha sighed, rubbing at her temples. "Yeah, thanks. I'll keep an eye out. But, Sam? I do have someone crashing here. I didn't bring it up because I didn't think it was a problem. Is it?"

"Did they just break out of prison or something?" joked Sam.

"No, but they did just die recently," Sasha said flatly. Sam's eyes widened.

"Oh—a vampire?" he asked. She nodded.

"I hope you keep this to yourself. He's young, just turned, and I found him because his maker abandoned him right after turning him. That's why I'm sticking around town," she explained.

"Well shit," said Sam. "How old is he? Was he?"

"Seventeen," said Sasha. "And as a human, he was in a terrible foster family, so he really doesn't have anyone. I've being doing what I can to help him,"

"That's a lot for one girl to handle," said Sam. "I can reach out to Eric Northman. He's in the position to help out,"

"I know. That's actually where we were last night. He's been helping out with the vampire stuff,"

Sam went quiet, though it was apparent that he wanted to say more. Finally, he said, "He'll help ya out, but jus he's gonna want something in return. He doesn't do freebies,"

Unwilling to go into specifics and explain that Eric wasn't doing her any favors, but simply his own duty as Sheriff, Sasha simply smiled at him. "I appreciate the warning, Sam. I'm only dealing with him to get Jack set up. I happened upon him, and now I feel a bit responsible. Once everything is good with Jack I'm out of here, and I won't be dealing with Northman anymore,"

But Sam looked skeptical. "Just remember you said that. That vampire, he's cunning and manipulative, and he's got a way of getting under your skin, but he can also be one hell of a charming bastard,"

Sasha smiled. "Are you speaking from personal experience, Sam?"

He didn't laugh, instead smiled sadly. "Kind of. A friend of mine, she was fine until she got caught up with vampires, and Northman was one of 'em. Now no one's seen her in weeks,"

"Oh," said Sasha. "I'm sorry," She was sure that this friend Sam was talking about was also the missing waitress, and Jason Stackhouse's sister. "Look, thanks for the warning—about Mrs. Fortenberry and Northman. I'll watch my back,"

"Good to hear it," said Sam. He turned to leave, and then he stopped, sighing. His shoulders drooped a bit, but then, and perhaps somewhat reluctantly, he turned back to Sasha. "This kid of yours, he behave himself?"

"Yes," Sasha said, if a bit sharply. Sam held his hands up in surrender.

"I don't mean no offense. I'm just thinking, why don't you bring him around to Merlotte's later? Jess has a shift tonight, maybe they can talk. I got a Tru Blood on the house with his name on it," offered Sam. Sasha perked up, once again pleasantly surprised by Sam's protectiveness. He reminded her a bit of a guard dog; weary of strangers, but once he gave them the okay, incredibly friendly. It was obvious to her that Sam Merlotte was no friend of the fang, yet he'd hired a vampire waitress, and now he was making an effort to reach out to Jack.

"His name is Jack," said Sasha. "And I think that would be really good for him. Fangtasia vampires intimidate him, and they're not exactly great role models,"

Sam chuckled softly, nodding. "Yeah, I'll bet. Guess I'll see ya later tonight,"

Leaning against the doorway of the bungalow, Sasha watched Sam walk back to his truck thoughtfully. There was still something about Sam Merlotte that gave tickled her sixth sense, the one that told her that ther **e** was more to the man that met the eye.

* * *

 **Hey guys! Thanks to my reviews, and the new story follower/favorites! Thanks for your review Liza!**

 **This chapter was obviously a lot heavier than past chapters, so I'm hoping to work some lightheartedness into the next chapter. Poor Jack! One of my favorite chapters is coming up soon, Chapter 12, and I'm very excited to reveal that, because it adds an entirely new layer to the Eric/Sasha dynamic. Things are about to get rocky, and new characters will be introduced, a few OCs and a few canon characters! Hope you guys will enjoy my interpretations.**

 **In case anyone was wondering about the length of this fic: I have chapter summaries outlined for the whole thing already, which has been very helpful to keeping my updates more frequent than I'd usually expect of myself. Anyway, it looks like Lust for Life will be 23 chapters long. Then it will be on to Book 2, which is currently untitled.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: New Friends, Old Enemies**

Eric's hands slipped into the pockets of his black jeans as he watched Sasha's red Camaro disappear down the road. A part of him wondered if it had been prudent allowing her behind the wheel; she might have been trying put up a strong front for the newborn's sake, but she was very clearly shaken. She had been just as unprepared for Peter's horrific revelation as he had been.

"Kid shoulda done it," drawled Pam. Eric looked her way. She stood tall next to him, her gently curling fair hair fluttering a bit in in the night breeze. "I woulda staked you in a heartbeat—no pun intended—if you'd pulled that shit on me,"

Eric nodded. He wasn't stupid, nor did he have particularly romantic notions of vampirism. There were some makers who truly loved their progenies, just as he loved Pam and Godric had loved him. Then there were those that presided over their progenies like lords, or those who turned humans vampire and then went their separate ways. Regardless of the relationship, it had always been an unspoken rule that a vampire assumed responsibility for the new life he or she raised. This regard for new life was one of the few commonalities vampires shared with humans. Peter had, at the very least, owed Jack an explanation, simply guidance. Instead he had fled. That had already been a grave offense.

But, as it turned out, Peter had committed an even more despicable act. He had abused Jack as a human, had taken advantage of him only to make him forget, and then he had done it again and again. As a vampire, Eric didn't think that he had changed so vastly from his days as a breather. Certainly he had evolved into something more, something better, but there were certain principles that he had stood by then and he stood by now. Children were off limits, and rape was the act of a coward.

"He's repressing those memories now, but Peter was right. Death will annul the glamors that he placed upon human Jack. He will start to remember now that he knows, and if he lets them, those memories will torture him, change him," murmured Eric. "I should have simply staked Peter, then he could have been spared all of this,"

"No, it's better this way," said Pam. Her usual smirk and air of disinterest vanished, and she kicked a bit of loose gravel with the toe of her loafers. It broke up as it skidded across the parking lot dangerously fast and sharp. "Those memories are going to be with him forever, what his maker did to him. They would have surfaced sooner or later; it's best he gets over it now. If he's strong, he will,"

He supposed she was right, and he trusted she spoke from a modicum of experience. Once he'd turned her she'd never dawdled on her past as a human, and had embraced life as a vampire with a zest he still had yet to encounter. It was one of the greatest qualities she possessed that he admired. Still, Eric was certain that her human life as a madam had been fraught with unsavoriness when it came to cruelty by the male sex.

But Eric thought Jack might need a lot more than just strength to overcome this. Turning vampire was difficult enough; he had been extremely unprepared, and he had also been so young. At his core, he would always be a seventeen-year-old boy, and his maturity and mentality would reflect that. Experience would only season him so far.

"Perhaps allowing Sasha to take him was unwise," said Eric, doubting himself now. If Jack was overcome by his emotions, if he lost control, that idiot girl would certainly put herself in harms way to try to help the newborn. And, if she got herself hurt or worse, she would do Jack more harm than good by placing her blood on his conscious.

"Worried about her, are you?"

"Prudent as she comes across, she's also shown a propensity for succumbing to her emotions very easily, like a—"

"Human?" drawled Pam. Eric glanced at her.

"Yes, like a human," said Eric, refusing to be baited by his progeny. Instead he thought back to earlier in the night, when that vampire had accosted Sasha. What was it that he'd said? _"You smell like sugar and roses."_ Though there was something sweet to her scent, Eric didn't think it as sugar, and he certainly hadn't detected any rose in her scent. He didn't find it particularly floral at all.

"Pam, you were close to her. What did she smell like?"  
"You," Pam said with a definite smirk. "It wasn't overpowering, but I'd know your scent anywhere, and it was definitely on her. How, exactly, did you reprimand her for her insolence? Spare no detail, please, sire,"

"Pamela," he said, losing patience. She rolled her eyes.

"She smelled like…I don't know. Flowery, I guess," she decided.

"Roses?" pressed Eric. Pam's eyes narrowed in concentration.

"No. Well, maybe a hint of rose, a little jasmine, fresh laundry—" Pam broke off, frowning now. "I guess she smelled like what Chanel No. 5 used to smell like, in its early days. I might have thought she was wearing the damn perfume if it wasn't so unmistakably laced with the metallicquality of blood. Why?"

"Curious," said Eric by way of both reply and explanation. He gave one last look down the road Sasha and Jack had disappeared down. "There's still quite a bit of clean up to do downstairs,"

"Fuck, you're right. You didn't send Ginger home by any chance, did you?"

Eric flashed her a winning smirk, and then he propelled himself up into the air, soaring above Fangtasia.

It wouldn't hurt to tail the girl and the newborn home. Just in case.

* * *

After Sam Merlotte left, Sasha went into the kitchen to sift through the fridge. Other than Tru Blood, it was mostly empty, as she'd been mostly eating at Merlotte's for the week she'd been in town.

 _A week_ , thought Sasha in disbelief, _you've been around this goddam town and all of this shit's happened. What the fuck?_

With a disgruntled sigh, Sasha grabbed the carton of orange in the refrigerator door and poured herself a tall glass. When she'd been home in Californiashe'd had pretty healthy habits, and it helped having a health-oriented cook at the other humans that were around for meals were the humans of vampires, and if they weren't bonded to their vampire, they at the very least allowed their vampires to feed on them. With this in mind, the chefs were very careful about providing healthy, nourishing meals to replenish the energy lost and negative consequences of blood loss. Sasha had been one of the few humans not to share blood, but it had been easy to pick up on the healthy habits. Since being on the road, she hadn't had a descent meal in a while. Merlotte's food was certainly delicious, but the mouthwatering greasy food was still restaurant food, and she was starting to think she just might kill for a salad.

Despite her craving for a home cooked meal, she had no motivation to go grocery shopping; such a mundane activity in light of everything that she had faced was unsettling. And so she leaned against the kitchen counter and sipped on her orange juice, wondering how everything had gotten so fucked were still so many pressing questions about Montgomery Manor—could she go back and face her ghostly grandmother? Did she want to?—but mostly she fretted over Jack. She knew of vampire therapists, but therapists _for_ vampires? Most of them could probably do with some degree of therapy, especially as the centuries piled on, but it just wasn't done. Jack would need to talk about what he'd gone through, and she just wasn't equipped for that. She could hardly bring him to just any vampire therapist.

Finding her phone, Sasha picked it up and fumbled with it for a long time. Finally she dialed Eoin, waiting for the voicemail to pick up. He was in his dead sleep now, but he'd see her message when he woke up.

" _Dia dhuit_ , Eoin," she greeted. She paused for a moment. "Okay, so I know I said everything was fine, but we both know that you didn't believe me. I'm fine, so no need to worry about me, but I, uh," she paused again, glancing at the door to Jack's bedroom. "I…kind of picked up a stray. And he needs what I needed back when—fuck, he's going to need a lot more than that. The thing is, the stay I picked up is vampire, so…yeah," she chewed on her bottom lop for a moment. "I'm in so much fucking trouble, I know. But this newborn, he's good, and he needs guidance. He needs Malachi. So just, just call me back some time. _Labhairim leat go luath. Go raibh maith agat,_ "

Hanging up, Sasha stared at her phone for a long time. She was tired still, but she was also weary of going to sleep and dreaming. She knew she'd have nightmares about Peter, and the darkness that his confession had trudged up for her, all the nightmares she hadn't had in months. She was also weary of her grandmother trying to contact her through her dreams. Whatever decision she came to about that, it would be on her own time.

Dressed in an old Republic of Ireland jersey she'd pilfered from Eoin some years ago, Sasha stood in the bungalow's little kitchen, glasses on the bridge of her nose as she tried to focus on yesterday's paper. She'd taken it yesterday from Merlotte's to get a sense of what was going in the world, isolated as she was feeling in strange and little ole Bon Temps, and she used it now to distract herself as she waited for her coffee to brew.

Black and white and grainy, Senator Andrews and Nan Flanagan were shaking hands. She scanned the article—though not exactly pro-vampire rights, its author acquiesced that the AVL had certainly maintained its promises and brought Russell Edgington to swift justice. The author posited that, had he been human, Russell Edgington would have faced capital punishment for his atrocity on national television, and he was pleased that as a vampire he faced the same lethal punishment. The article went on to quote both the senator and the AVL rep, praising the Good Senator for keeping the AVL accountable and putting the rights and needs of his state before the vampires.

The paper didn't exactly distract her, and so Sasha threw it in the trash bin, claiming a coffee and taking it out to the front porch with a book she'd found lying around the bungalow. When she sat down in the white rocker out front, legs curled under her, the book remained in her lap unopened, mug cupped in her hands.

In this early hour, with a merciful cool breeze and the first light of day, Bon Temps didn't look so awful. The grass was green and the houses cute, air fresh and the world deceptively serene.

How much longer was she willing to stay? Peter was dealt with and, as soon as Jack gave her the go ahead, she was ready to put him on a plane straight to Los Angeles. Once she was free of responsibility, she could continue on to New York just as she planned. Then she could make up her mind. Would she lie low? Would she go back to school, go for a PH.D? Going back to school certainly appealed to her. She liked being a student, and it was certainly a welcome reprieve from the recent tragedies and craziness that had found its way into her life. She could go back to school, then maybe return to California.

Try as she might to avoid it, Montgomery Manor wormed its way into her head, and she wondered if this was truly something she could run away from. She had questions; why had her mother lied about where she was from? Had Sasha been to Bon Temps before, when she was a baby? Did her father know that her mother was a Louisiana native, or had he been kept in the dark? Why would either of them lie?

And there was her grandmother's ghost. She'd been so long without her biological family that the idea of a grandmother—even a ghostly one—sounded too strange, too foreign a concept. Had she ever even met her grandmother as a baby? Had this been fate all along? Had her luck with that ring just held out for long enough to get her to her grandmother, someone who could teach her how to harness the power inside of her safely? Sasha didn't want power, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she lost control again.

* * *

Sasha parked the car in the shadow of Merlotte's. He'd been quiet since he'd risen, and though she wouldn't go as far as calling him withdrawn, Jack certainly hadn't been as animated as she had known him to be. She didn't expect him to magically be okay after witnessing his maker's execution, and with Peter's revelation, she was somewhat surprised he wasn't spiraling now. But sitting around at home and allowing him to stew in his thoughts hadn't seemed like a good idea, and when she mentioned going to Merlotte's, he'd expressed interest. So here they were.

"Jack—"

"I'm fine,"

Sasha eyed him quizzically. She put the car into park and flicked off the ignition and turned to face Jack bodily. "If you're fine, then I'm seriously worried, Jack,"

Jack sighed, fumbling with the sleeves of his grey shirt. "I'm not…fine, no, but I just…I don't want to talk about it. I don't even want to think about that now. I can't. And it's weird, because if I tell myself not to think about it… I don't. If I was still human, I know I'd be a fucking mess, but as a vampire… I don't know. I guess I have a lid on it,"

It was true that controlling emotions was a lot different for vampires than it was for humans. Once they exerted that control, it was much more resolute than it was for humans; if vampires decided not to think about something, they wouldn't. Most humans couldn't stop thinking about the very thing they wanted to repress. But vampires were also subject to far greater—and deadlier—consequences if they lost control of those tightly grasped emotions.

"Okay," said Sasha. "We'll stay as long or as little as you want. Fair?"

Jack nodded, and then he was out of the car, eager to be inside the diner. She couldn't blame him; since death, he'd spent his time buried in a grave, in the cramped bungalow, or Fangtasia. She followed suit, tugging up her jeans a little further up her hips as stepped out of the car.

Merlotte's was busy with the usual evening rush, but they were quickly greeted by Jessica Hamby. The pretty young vampire flashed them welcoming smiles.

"Hi, Sasha. Who's your friend?" asked Jessica.

"Jessica, this is—"

"Jack," Jack said quickly. Sasha glanced his way in surprise. Though a bit shy, he thrust his hand out for Jessica to shake. Jessica smiled and shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Jack," said Jessica. She flashed another bright smile, then turned back to Sasha.

"Just you two?"

Jessica led them to a booth, taking down their orders. As she left Sasha caught Jack staring after her with obvious interest. She withheld a frown; she didn't want to say anything, but after seeing how withdrawn he'd been with the store clerk the other day when they'd gone shopping, the one that had been unabashedly flirting with him, it was a little strange to see him making heart eyes over Jessica. Jessica was very cute, but after the events of last night…it seemed a bit soon.

"So, Jack," said Sasha after Jessica had dropped off a tall glass of sweet iced tea for her and a Tru Blood for Jack. She waited until Jack's eyes had returned to her rather than their waitress's legs before continuing. "I know it doesn't sound very appealing at the moment, but there's some stuff we have to talk about,"

Immediately the small smile on Jack's lips dropped. His lips curled into a scowl as he leaned forward across the table. "I told you, I don't want to talk about—"

"Not that," assured Sasha. "But we have to talk about what happens to you now,"

"Oh," said Jack. He didn't look particularly pleased by this subject either. Sasha took a sip of her tea, then moved it off to the side. "You know I'm not staying here permanently," she told him. Jack nodded. "And…well, Eric's right. I'm not a vampire. I've helped you as much as I can, but I'm not your maker. You need a good, _vampire_ guide, someone who knows what this is like because they experienced it, not because they studied it."

"You've done a hell of a lot more for me than anyone has in… well, ever," said Jack. "Even Eric, scary as he is, he's been great. You two have made this…bearable."

Sasha nodded. "Yeah, but, I'm not in any position to take care of you, not when I have my own… _thing_ to figure out," said Sasha. She fluttered her ring finger at him, and he nodded in understanding.

"So if you want to stay here, then that can be arranged. Between Eric and I, we can come up with something," she promised him. "Or, if you want it, you have a place in California,"

"With your nest?" Jack asked curiously. Then, a little vulnerably, "They'd, they'd want me?"

"They have a thing for strays," Sasha told him with a wink. She knew it would be impossible for him to take her word completely—even though she'd been true to her word so far, he barely knew her, and he definitely didn't know her nest. It would take time, but Sasha knew that eventually Jack would overcome all of this. She had faith in him.

"What would that be like? Living with a nest?" asked Jack. "I mean, not all vampires do it, right?"

"No, of course not. There's a lot of vampires that live solitarily, or with their mates, human or vampire. As far as nests go, it depends," Sasha explained. "Some nests are born of geography and title. Sheriff Northman, for example, is the leader of his nest. In his case, his nest covers all of his territory. There are other nests within his territory, but ultimately they all answer to him because of his title as Sheriff. These nests are formal in the sense that the vampires within it are duty-bound to their Sheriff, but it's not necessarily a strong, familial bond. Other nests are formed when vampires come together to live like families, and these are usually comprised of bloodlines—a maker and their progeny,"

"And your nest?" asked Jack.

"My nest is a bit of a mixture. Some vampires are there out of necessity, because they're just passing through, and there are benefits of being in a nest. Protection, shelter, that kind of thing. But at it's core, it's a family," she said with a smile. There was a pang in her gut; she missed them so much more than she'd guessed she would.

"Most of the nest lives together on the compound. Everyone leads their own lives, but we're all always somehow involved with each other. It's nice."

"That does sound kind of nice, but also kind of like a cult," said Jack, brows furrowing skeptically. "A compound? And you're doing that thing where you think you're saying a lot, but you're being king of vague, Sasha,"

Sasha smiled ruefully at him, nose wrinkling. He was right, she was still keeping her secrets.

"I'm a human, Jack," she told him. "In a very weird position. I have to keep my secrets so I can stay afloat,"

"I don't get that either," said Jack.

"Secrets…knowledge… they make or break humans, but in the supernatural world, they're currency. The more you know about someone else, the more power you have over them. Even the smallest detail, something that might seem harmless or inconsequential, it says a lot," said Sasha. "Vampires especially. With the longs lives you lead…there's a lot to accumulate,"

"Or maybe, by being secretive you just give those secrets power," muttered Jack. Then he glanced up at her and smiled apologetically. "I guess it's different in your case, what with the…"

He trailed off and nodded to her ruby-less ring.

"Exactly," she told him.

"If I joined the nest, I'd be able to leave though, right?"  
"You wouldn't be a prisoner, Jack," she grinned. "Again, I promise it's not a cult,"

Jack drank his Tru Blood. Then he asked, "And what do they get in return? They'll house me, they'll feed me—you know I don't have any money. I don't have anything to give,"

"Knowing Malachi—he's the…he's the soul of our nest, I'd say. Well, knowing him, the first thing he'd want to get you is a tutor. You were a senior in high school, right?" she asked. When he nodded she smiled. "Yeah, he'd want you to get your education sorted—education is a big thing for him. He'd insist you continue with school. The choice would ultimately be up to you of course. Then he'd help you figure out what it is you'd like, and help set you up with a job,"

"That's what he did for you?" asked Jack. "Is he the one that taught you French?"

Sasha nodded. "He hired tutors for me. I had a natural aptitude for languages, so I focused on that for a while, and I realized I really liked art history and history in general,"

"That doesn't sound so bad," said Jack. Then he admitted. "I hate school,"  
Sasha laughed. "I hated school too, which is why I was all too happy when I was given the choice between going and having tutors. I chose tutors, and it was really nice to focus on actual learning instead of everything else that comes with school,"

Curiosity overcoming him, he asked, "Were your tutors vampire?"

"A few,"

"That explains a lot," muttered Jack. Sasha laughed a bit. Jack seemed genuinely relaxed—or at least, as relaxed as he could be, considering.

Jessica reappeared at their table, dropping off a plate of French fries. Sasha didn't remember ordering them on the side of her salad. "Here you go, Sasha. Sorry, but Lafayette said he doesn't make salad,"

Sasha snorted, pulling the plate of fries closer.

"I'm going off for the night. Mind join you guys?" asked Jessica, gesturing to their table. Sam must have put her up to the friendliness, Sasha thought, and sure enough, when she checked the bar, she found Sam Merlotte eyeing their table. When he caught her looking he tipped a pretend hat toward her and winked.

"Uh—no—go ahead, make yourself comfortable," stammered Jack. Jessica smiled, sliding into the booth next to him.

"So you're a newborn, huh?" Jessica asked conversationally. Jack nodded.

"Um, yeah. How old are you? Shit—is that okay to ask?" he added nervously. Jessica laughed.

"I'm still technically a newborn, I guess. I'm still under a year," she said with a shrug. "And my maker insists of treating me like a baby half the time, so I think I'm going to be considered a newborn for a while,"

As the two vampires settled into conversation, Sasha excused herself on the pretense of going to the bathroom. She did, then dropped by the bar, hopping up on a barstool.

"Thanks," she told Sam, nodding back at her booth. When she looked back, Jack was actually grinning ear to ear at something Jessica said.

"No problem," said Sam. "Can I get you a refill?"

"Yes please. What the hell is in the sweet tea that makes it so good?" she asked as he filled up another cup.

"Ain't the tea, hookah, its them hands that mix it,"

Sasha glanced to her left to see who had spoken. A dark-skinned and muscular man was slipping behind the bar. He was immediately quite the character, reminiscent of some of her human acquaintances from Los Angeles. His head was covered by a purple camo-print durag, and his eyes framed by an incredibly fluttery set of false eyelashes. His eyeliner was sharp and precise, enough that it made her want to run into the bathroom and fix the half-assed attempt at make up she'd tried earlier in the evening to hide her exhaustion. He topped off his look with a heavily sequined jersey tank top.

"This is Lafayette Reynolds. He's our cook," introduced Sam.

"He's also on break right now," said Lafayette, reaching for a bottle of tequila.

"So you're responsible for the two pounds I put on since getting into town a week ago," said Sasha.

"Guilty as charged," said Lafayette, toasting her with the bottle of tequila. He moved to the blender, tossing in ingredients for a margarita. "Y'all want?" he added. Sasha stifled a giggle when Sam looked on in exasperation as one of his employees, without waiting for an answer proceeded to mix his drink.

"And you're also the one that won't make me a salad?" continued Sasha. Lafayette snorted.

"Whos the fuck goes out to eat and orders a damn salad? Miss me with that shit," he said.

"Come on, Lafayette," groaned Sam. He glanced at Sasha apologetically, but she waved away his concern. "You hear from Tara lateley?"

"To tell me she was safe and that I could fuck off," said Lafayette. His dark eyes fluttered to his boss. "You?"

"Pretty much the same," admitted Sam. "You sure she didn't say anything? About me?" pressed Sam. Sasha pretended to be very interested in the drink menu in front of her as the conversation took on a decidedly personal tone.

"Shit, Sam, d'you fuck my baby cousin again?"

Sam turned red, glancing at Sasha uncomfortably. "J-just if you hear from her, let me know," said Sam. Red as a cherry tomato, Sam moved out from behind the counter, muttering excuses about checking stock out back, leaving Sasha with the sassy short order cook.

"Well fuck," said Lafayette to know one in particular. She watched as he procured two glasses and added salted the rim. He set them on the counter and poured out the margarita mixture into both. "Yous tryin' to get with Sam? Yous got good chances; he all over a colored sista's pussy these days,"

Sasha choked on her spit. "Um, no, I'm not,"

Lafayette shrugged as if to say, 'your loss' and then handed her the second margarita. "We'll put it on my runnin' tab," he said with a wink. Sasha laughed, taking the drink. Her fingers brushed the smooth skin of his hand, and he started, dropping the glass. It broke as the stem hit the counter, spilling margarita and salt across the counter and floor.

"Shit," he hissed, backing away from her. Sasha frowned. She stared at her hand; she'd felt an odd spark. Looking up, she saw that Lafayette was staring at her like he'd just seen a ghost.

"Fuck, I'm outta here," he muttered. He fled from behind the bar, leaving his drink and all.

"Okay," frowned Sasha. She turned and watched the man flee out of Merlotte's. "Weird." Definitely so.

After shaking off the strange encounter, Sasha returned to her booth to find that it had filled some since she'd left it. Sitting next to Jessica was Hoyt Fortenberry, his arm thrown over the back of her seat as he chatted with Jason Stackhouse. Jason sat next to Jack, shrugging off Hoyt's attempts to debate a football match that had aired that weekend.

"Look, man, I didn't really watch it," Jason was saying.

"What you mean, J-Man? You love college ball," said Hoyt.

"Just wasn't feelin' it," shrugged Jason. A moment of tension settled over the table, and Jessica deftly elbowed Hoyt in the side, shooting him a look of warning. Hoyt glared back at her defensively; Jack looked on in confusion. Sasha was willing to draw the conclusion that Hoyt was trying to lift Jason's spirits.

"I really should have ordered more than ice tea. I'm starving," announced Sasha, flopping into the available seat next to Jason. He shot her a grateful look.

"Arelene just got our drink orders, you can order something from her when she comes back," he told her. Then he glanced at Jack and back to her. "No offense, but how did _this_ happen?"

"We're not together or anything," Jack said quickly, eyes shooting to Jessica. Noticing this, Hoyt's eyebrow rose. "She's my, uh, she's like my mentor. Like my caretaker,"

"Somehow that makes me feel like the old one," muttered Sasha. "I'm just helping Jack out with some stuff,"

"Yeah, I'm new," supplied Jack.

If a little suspiciously, Jason asked, "How new, exactly? You ever lost control feeding?"

"Hey, knock it off," snapped Jessica, shooting him a meaningful look. Jack began to look a little uncomfortable, his eyes straying for a moment to Sasha's neck.

"Just once," he admitted, voice small. The good humor that had been present in him was quickly vanishing.

"Not that it's any of your business," stressed Sasha. "But he's fine, and he hasn't killed or hurt anyone."

They were saved by the appearance of Arlene, the skinny waitress with the shock of bottle-red hair. She dropped drinks off, and Sasha put in an order. While delicious, the fries hadn't been filling, and she resigned herself to a burger since she wouldn't be getting her salad it seemed.

"Comin' right up," said Arelene. But just as she turned to leave she turned back to their table, looking down at Sasha knowingly. "You know, I just wanted to thank you,"

"Thank me?" asked Sasha, puzzled. Arlene nodded vigorously.

"I wasn't gonna say nothing, but," Arelene made a show of looking around. Then she leaned in. "The other day, you were in here askin' 'bout were my ex, René was buried? Well I could have sworn he was hauntin' me and mine. Then you came in, askin' 'bout him, and I haven't seen him around town since,"

"Oh. Um—"

"So thanks. Your voodoo, or whatever it is you people do, it worked. So thank you from the bottom of my heart, from me and mine,"

Arlene flounced off, looking like she might cry in relief. Sasha was left stunned, the rest of the table looking at her with a mixture of caution and curiosity.

"I know she was thanking me," said Sasha. "But I swear she was a little…"

"Racist?" offered Jessica.

"Yeah and really casually," said Sasha.

It was silent for a moment, then—

Jack was the first to erupt into laughter. He laughed hard, managing to choke out, "'v-voodoo or whatever y-you people do?' My God!"

Then Sasha was giggling and, soon enough, the rest of the table. They teased Arlene for thinking Sasha had banished a ghost. Sasha glanced Jack's way, watching the way he laughed, the way his deep blue eyes lit up. Yeah, it would be tough, but he was going to be okay eventually. She was certain of it.

They hung around a bit more, at least until Jessica declared that she had to go.

"Yeah, I'm kind of excited to get home. My maker's been gone for a while, and he came back earlier this evenin'. He had some excitin' news," said Jessica.

"Wait—Bill's back?" asked Jason.

"Vampire Bill was gone?" added Hoyt, confused.

Sasha exchanged a look with Jack, mouthing, 'Vampire Bill? Really?'

"Yeah, he uh, with the whole Sookie thing…I guess he just needed some time," Jessica said with an apologetic look towards Jason. "But he's back now, and I'm happy to see him,"

"You need a ride? I'll drive you. Since he's been gone I haven't been able to ask him any questions about Sook,"

Hoyt also called it a night, saying he had work early in the morning. The three left, leaving Sasha and Jack with the remains of their drinks.

"Who the heck is Vampire Bill?"

* * *

After overseeing that the basement had been cleaned to his Virgo specifications, Eric Northman retreated to his office. It was a slow night, and he felt no desire to sit on the throne tonight. He had a few receipts to look over—he was especially careful to manage the accounting himself or let Pam do it ever since Longshadow—and he also had his paperwork as Sheriff to manage. For all this talk about advancing, the AVL was still stuck in the fucking Stone Age. Would it kill them to allow reports to be completed electronically? He wasn't necessarily a techy, but even he could see the advantages of having everything electronic. With all the fucking taxes he paid, he was also certain the AVL could afford the necessary firewalls and virtual security such a thing would require.

In the midst of his mental brooding, his phone went off. It was Kimberly Smith, his on-call PI.

"Miss Smith," he greeted. "I hope you have information for me,"

"I do, Sheriff Northman. And you're not going to like all of it," Kimberly Smith said flatly.

"Of course there's bad news," muttered Eric. "Go ahead,"

"As far as the girl goes, I didn't turn up much more than I had before, just two more things, but they are interesting. I reviewed what your human PI turned up, about her adoption. He didn't dig deep enough; the orphanage and adoption papers, are a little off. This Rita Zapata woman, there's no evidence that she ever expressed any interest in having or adopting a child until the same week Sasha Buckley's papers show her up for adoption. As far as I can tell the divorce papers and the money she inherited from a divorce are made up. Someone went though a lot of trouble to make this girl appear normal. Whoever did the forging was good; there's no true paper trail,"

"Interesting," said Eric, turning a pen over in his hands. What was so special about Sasha Buckley that someone would go through so much trouble—legal and financial—to erase her background? This was as good of proof as any that he was right to suspect there was more about her than what she appeared. "And the other thing?"

"The other thing is an organization. I'm faxing you several documents. LA based non-profit, and Buckley seems to have worked for it. Its aim was to shelter and improve the lives of runaway children," said Kimberly.

That certainly fit the bill of what he knew of Sasha Buckley. She certainly had a soft spot for orphans, and it was confirmed she was one herself.

"It was a big deal over there, too, because it received some vampire funding. The AVL was pumping it for all the good PR it could get. Apparently vampires helping needy miniature human blood bags makes for good press,"

That had Nan Flanagan written all over it.

"Was?" asked Eric.

"It was shut down last year after an investigation. Seven children connected to the Haven Foundation went missing. Even the AVL had a hand in covering it all up, because suddenly good press had the potential to become a PR nightmare. That's it on the Buckley case."

Eric filed the information away for later, his mind already running away with different scenarios. "And the Queen?"

"That's what you're not going to like, Sheriff," said Kimberly Smith. "I tracked where she and her team last went. She was in Bon Temps, sir,"

"Bon Temps?" repeated Eric. "Seeing who?"

"Sir, the last known person to have seen Queen Sophie-Anne was Bill Compton."

Eric hung up after a quick thanks, feeling somewhat dazed as he dropped his phone onto his desk. Bill Compton? What had the Queen gone to see Bill about? And now Bill was mysteriously absent? He summoned Pam, quickly filling her in on the second portion of his conversation with Kimberly Smith. He saw the same dread he felt cross her features.

"Eric, you don't think…" she trailed off. "Because we'd be seriously fucked if…"

"She was nearly three times his age," said Eric, shaking his head. "And quite fierce when she wanted to be,"

"Fucking hell, Eric. If Bill Compton killed the Queen, then who's monarch? Certainly not Bill! And if he was, where the hell has he been? The AVL wouldn't have allowed tiny little vampire apologist—"

"Unless they facilitated this whole thing," said Eric. "There was no way they would have allowed Sophie-Anna to remain unscathed after the whole fiasco with the V. They would have had my head if I hadn't been useful to them. No, they know that Bill can be manipulated, perhaps they struck some sort of deal. It's why I would do, if I were in their place,"

"Why the hell would he even agree to such a thing?" asked Pam. "Since when has the little fry been a power hungry jackass?"

"He would have gone after Sophie-Anne for the same reason he came after us," said Eric, running a hand through his hair. "She knew what Sookie is. And although his motives with Sookie were initially questionable, I know he loves her. He would go to any length to save her,"

"Sookie fucking Stackhouse. Should have fucking known. I can always blame her, can't I?" Pam swore loudly. "Eric, you know what this means. If Compton is King, you and I are fucked,"

* * *

 _CHAPTER TRANSLATIONS:_ _(Irish Gaelic) Dia dhuit= hello;_ _Leat go luath. Go raibh maith agat= I will see you soon. Thank you._

 **Hi guys! Thanks to the new followers/favorites, got a lot of those last chapter. It's crazy to see how many hits this story has gotten this month alone-I really hope you guys are enjoying the story! This chapter was a bit of a filler, but necessary to the events of the next two or three chapters, so that's why it's here. I will probably post chapter 10 tomorrow because of that fact!**

 **to guest reviewer Liza: I know poor Jack! And I really do think that Eric is a good maker and it's important for him to be one, which was why that whole Willa mess in season 7 didn't really convince me all that much. That and how he didn't really seem to care about Tara dying and her being Pam's progeny just didn't feel true to his character. Oh well. Thanks for reviewing!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Dead Ambition**

"Oh, how good of you to show up,"

Sasha sighed, glancing up at the sky in search of her patience. Unfortunately for her, that bird had flown the coop and didn't look like it was coming around any time soon. Since her discovery of Montgomery House, it had been easy to avoid dealing with what it posed for her, because she'd been able to focus singularly on Jack. But with his demons now inner and his day sleep, she was left with daylight hours filled with nothing but the gnawing discomfort of terrible discovery. So now she had returned to the decrepit house, and she had to deal with a sassy ghost who also happened to be her grandmother.

Sasha clutched her to-go cup of coffee cup tighter in her hands and adjusted her sunglasses where they sat on the bridge of her nose.

"Yeah, well, I was kind of dealing with a vampire emergency," said Sasha. Her ghostly grandmother was in front of her in an instance.

"Vampires?" she repeated, Louisiana drawl thick with distress. "Oh, child, what happened? Did those nasty bloodsuckers hurt you?"

Sasha felt confident from this single utterance that her grandmother was prejudiced against vampires. She didn't know enough about witches to know if this was a commonality, but she could guess. Supes weren't exactly friendly with each other, and most of the contention happened with vampires.

"I think maybe you and I should sit down and have a chat," said Sasha. "Because I have a lot of questions,"

And she did. For better or worse, there were answers here that she wanted, and between her own reluctance and fear, her first meeting with her grandmother hadn't yielded any of them. She'd only learned of her existence—if Sasha could even call it that—and that she went by the name of Cookie Montgomery.

Cookie frowned heavily, and then took a seat down on the porch, patting the spot next to her. Sasha sat as directed, careful not to stick her boot through the missing step just below.

Her grandmother's face was plump, skin smooth, and the concern she felt now caused the lines in her face to deepen, to age her. She reached out a hand, and then thought better of it, moving to adjust her burnt orange shawl. Now that Sasha looked, she realized that her grandmother wasn't wearing the same clothing she'd been wearing the day she'd first come by the house.

"Your clothes are different," said Sasha. "How?"

"Oh this? It's just a glamour," said Cookie, waving her hand dismissively.

"A glamor?" repeated Sasha, bewildered. "Like a vampire?"

This time it was Cookie that appeared thrown. "Of course not. A witch's glamour has nothing to do with a vampire's thrall. You're tellin' me you don't know what a glamour is, child?"

When Sasha shook her head, Cookie's frown deepened. "A witch can cast a glamour over herself. There are different kinds of glamours, and they take different levels of skill to cast. They change how you appear to others—things like what you wear, or you could change the color of your hair or the color of your eyes, even your physical features. The more you practice the easier they are to maintain. They don't actually alter your appearance—a glamour is an illusion,"

"Oh wow," said Sasha. She thought about her elementary school aged self and how much she would have loved to do such a thing for her eyes. She'd been teased mercilessly at school for a lot of things—her big curly hair, the color of her skin being not quite light, not quite dark, and her "freak eyes". She rarely thought about having two differently colored eyes now, but when she'd been young she'd begged and begged her parents to buy her colored contacts so that they'd match and either both be brown or both be green. Her mother had refused.

As her eyes bore into her deeply, Cookie asked, "What happened to you, child?"

Sasha's gaze dropped to the sleeve of her to-go cup. She toyed with the cardboard sleeve meant to protect her hand from the coffee's heat, tearing a spot weak from spilt coffee. What was there to say? _Yes, hi, dead grandma. Your daughter up and left my dad and I, and then when dad couldn't handle my being a witch, I went to live with vampires._

She didn't have to know Cookie particularly well to know that wouldn't go over well. Cookie had been so surprised that she didn't know what a glamor—no, glam _our_ —was, she must have thought Sasha was a learned witch.

With a bitter smile, Sasha told her, "I have a feeling you're about to be very disappointed in your family,"

"Child, I'm a ghost that's been stuck to this house for over twenty years. I've been alone, unable to step foot off this property because of the magic that binds me to this house. I'm just happy to see my grandbaby," said Cookie.

"Well," said Sasha, tucking the usual wayward curls behind an ear. "I was born in DC. Mom and dad were living there for dad's work, then they moved back here so dad could be in his home state. I guess they both hated DC. We lived in Baton Rouge. I thought we were happy, but…I guess mom wasn't. She left when I was eleven and made it pretty clear that she didn't have any intention of coming back,"

She stared down hard at the porch, memorizing each groove in the wood so as not to look at her grandmother. "And then dad, dad started freaking out because I started to turn out to be not-so normal, and it became clear he couldn't handle me and I tried— _I tried so hard to be normal._ But I didn't know anyone like me, and I didn't even known what I was—mom never taught me anything, didn't ever explain anything to me about the craft and then—"

Sasha broke off, wiping angrily at the tears that betrayed her emotions by rolling out from beneath her aviators and down her cheeks. For better or worse, Sasha had led an extraordinary life. She didn't ever waste time thinking about her life before Eoin and Malachi, because after meeting them she'd been happy. But she harbored a lot of resentment and anger toward her parents, particularly her mother, and lingering on the memories of what she had gone though stirred up a darkness inside of her. Anger, fear, self-hatred and loneliness, resentment and misery… it had festered inside of her for years, untouched. Now it was creeping back up, and her hands began to spark. A purple spark burned through the side of her coffee cup, draining the last of it onto the floor and spilling it across her pants.

"Shit," she hissed, dropping the cup. She clasped her hands together against, jamming them between her thighs and rocking back and forth like it might contain the strange power. Her eyed jammed shut and she searched to recover her inner balance.

"Oh, child," said Cookie sadly, watching her. "So you ain't ever been taught anything? You even know what you are?"

"I know what I am," hissed Sasha, straining still against the storm of emotions inside of her. She struggled to find something to calm her down, anything. Her thoughts went to Malachi, but her emotions regarding him were clouded by how much she missed him, and it through her further into her spiral. She quickly searched for something else to think about, to focus herself—she found herself thinking of the sea, glacial blue and cooling. She realized belatedly that she was thinking of Eric Northman, and she latched onto the idea of him, of that control he possessed she now envied. He possessed so much power, so much strength, and yet he always appeared capable of restraining himself.

It worked. The sparks receded, the darkness lifted. She drew a shaky breath.

"I know what I am," she repeated. "I know I'm a witch. But I'm not exactly what you might call interested,"

"Not interested? It's your heritage—it's who you are!" exclaimed Cookie. "It's not something you can run away from—it's in you, it _is_ you,"

"Yeah, well, watch me," said Sasha. "Look, I'm here because I had a ring. This ring," she held up her hand to Cookie, showing her the ruby-less ring. "I've been wearing this for over a decade. More than ten years I wore this thing without a problem, and it bound my powers. Now it's broken, and my powers are all over the place. I just need to know how to turn it off before I expose myself or worse, hurt someone,"

"It ain't something' you can turn on and off, child. Like I said, it's who you are," said Cookie. When Sasha's stare remained unwavering, she shook her head. She studied the ring in Sasha hand carefully, moving a hand to hover over it. "It takes powerful magic to make a ring like this. Who was the witch that made this?"

"I don't know," admitted Sasha, slipping the ring back onto her finger. "It was acquired for me,"

Cookie's dark eyes turned suspicious, and she ghosted in front of Sasha, peering closely at her.

"When you ran away, just whom did you run to?"

"Like I said," murmured Sasha. "You're not going to like this,"

She recounted her cross-country childhood travels, though she allowed for a few more details than she'd given Jack. As predicted, Cookie was incensed.

"Vampires? Do you know what they do to people like us? Why do you think there are so few of our kind?"

"I know. But I also know that everything I know, if I'm still alive, it's all because of Malachi. Not only has he kept me alive, but he gave me a family, so don't pull that all-vampires-are-evil bullshit with me, because I'm not here for it,"

Because, when it came down to it, Sasha didn't care that this was the ghost of her mother's mother. Her grandmother was essentially a stranger to her, and she was disrespecting who she considered her _real_ family, the family that she would always be fiercely protective over.

"They are not your family—"

"Oh, because my human family is so much better," said Sasha. "My mother left me without even a simple letter outlining what I as, what I might expect—and when I left, all I had to do was leave a note for my dad saying I was going to stay with my mom and he didn't even care enough to investigate if that was true enough, because without his freak daughter he finally had time to focus on his career. I didn't even know you existed until I got stranded in this fucked up town, so I'm sorry, _grandmother_ , but I you have no right to tell me who is or is not my family.

Cookie shook her head, disgust evident on her features as she looked away, as though the very sight of her was too much to bear. As she did, Sasha swore her image flickered a little; she wondered if this was her glamour being affected by her emotions.

"See, this is what they do. We ain't just anybody. We are _real and true_ witches. Glamor don't work on us, so they gotta come up with all sortsa ways to bind us to them. They bite you, they beat you, they get you all hopped up on their blood, all so they can keep you under their thumbs and control you for your power. And when they can't control you, they'll kill you."

"Don't talk about what you don't know," said Sasha. "There might be those vampires that are like that. I don't doubt it. But Malachi recognized me for what I was and realized my days on my own were numbered. He gave me the option of the ring or finding someone to teach me. _I_ chose the ring, just as I chose my fate at every turn. Never once did Malachi make me drink vampire blood, and never once did a vampire touch me. He raised me, he gave me every opportunity to have a normal life. I got to go to college, learn languages, travel—all because of him. I was even happy, go figure,"

"Please, child, you gotta be smarter than this!" argued Cookie. "'Course he took care of you! You're a powerful, powerful witch, one in a million! Do you know just how rare a _born_ witch is? All the old lines, they're dyin' out—we're not just one of the powerful ones, we're some of the very last of our race facing extinction! When I was still alive, there weren't more then a hundred of us left in this part of the world. We were— _are_ —bein' hunted. This, this _Malachi_ vampire you're talkin' about, he must be one smart vampire. Raised you to be loyal to him so he can use you! It's what they do!"

Sasha let out a disbelieving laugh. She jumped up to her feet, stepping over the missing step and her fallen coffee cup. "I don't have to listen to this. I came here for answers, and now I see I'm better off in the dark, so thanks for nothing."

"Sasha—you come back here, child! You can't trust them!"

She ignored the shouts of warning her grandmother called after her as she strode to her car and got in. She peeled out of Montgomery Manor, resigned that it would be the last time she cast her eyes upon it.

* * *

Jack Connors didn't bother to hide his surprise when he opened the front door of his and Sasha's little bungalow to find Eric Northman standing on the porch not long after sunset. He blinked in shock at him, and then quickly tripped over himself to invite the Sheriff in.  
"I'll be needing Miss Buckley to invite me in," said Eric. "You know, the human?"

"Human?" repeated Jack, lost. Then his sapphire eyes widened in shock and he laughed nervously, reaching up to scratch at the nape of his neck. "Yeah. Right. Forgot about the invite thing,"

"Yes, the _invite thing_ ," said Eric. When Jack said nothing, he prompted somewhat impatiently, "Is she in?"

"No, she's not. She left me a note that she was going out for a bit," said Jack. He jammed his hands into his back pocket as he leaned a shoulder into the door. "Um, did you want to wait around? I don't think she'll be out to long now. I don't think she really likes leaving me on my own,"

Eric rolled his eyes, leaning against the bungalow's peeling doorframe. "Tell me, Jack, does it not bother you that she hasn't realized you're a newborn vampire, not a pet?"

Jack frowned. "I don't think she thinks that at all. She just cares,"

Eric scoffed and Jack's frowned deepened. "Come on, you must have your suspicions that she has an ulterior motive. She must have said something, done something to make you question her good charity,"

Jack shifted uncomfortably. He didn't know why the Sheriff had come around, but he had the sense that he was now seizing an opportunity to probe Jack for information on Sasha. He seemed to suspect that Sasha was something more than human. But Sasha had done so much for Jack already, there was no way he'd sell her out now.

"I think she's just good people. Has a big heart," said Jack with a shrug. "If you're waiting around, do you want a Tru Blood?"

Eric let a friendly smile split his lips, and he agreed, turning to sit on the top porch steps as Jack retrieved the drinks. Within seconds they were both seated and sipping on synthetic blood. While Eric didn't particularly care for the drink nor was he hungry, he could at least serve as a good example. Newborns were hardly a threat to other vampires, at least directly; it was their taciturn nature and the bloodlust that lingered close to the surface that was cause for worry. Newborns that lost control became messy, easily falling prey to feeding frenzies and making a right mess of things. Once it had threatened exposure; now it threatened to have the AVL punish any vampire it could lay responsibility on.

After clinking his A negative to Jack's bottle in a mock toast, they sat in silence. But only for a little, because the newborn began shifting a little, and Eric was certain he was burning to asking him something.

"How are you…coping?" asked Eric. Jack shot him a sidelong glance, as if to say, _do you really care to know?_ When Eric simply stared back, Jack sighed. He peeled the label off of his Tru Blood, then set the bottle down to fiddle with the flimsy paper in his hand.

"I'm fine," he said slowly. "And I know I won't be if I stop and really think about what happened to me, if I let those memories he glamored locked tight resurface. So I don't think about it, because if I do…"

He trailed off, something akin to revulsion crossing his face. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. His fingers moved in a blur; a moment later a paper plane was sitting in his hands. Jack held it up between two fingers. "Is it bad that I think this tastes like shit?" asked Jack. "It's just…I mean, it's drinkable….and it's better than the pig's blood…but I just keep thinking about…"

"You keep thinking about Ginger's blood," said Eric, nodding in understanding. Jack's head drooped. His long legs kicked out, the toes of his Doc Martens scraping against the dirt.

"Worse," whispered Jack. "I—I keep thinking about Sasha's blood. From that first night, in the cemetery when she found me…I couldn't help myself, and I feel awful about what I did and I hate myself for even thinking this, because she's been so good to me, but she just smells so _good_ ,"

Eric observed the conflicted newborn, considering his dilemma. He was somewhat envious that of the newborn for having tasted the elusive girl's blood, and part of him was eager to inquire after it, to ask if she tasted just as good as she smelled, if her blood was even better or not. It turned out he didn't have to ask.

"When I was like, really little, I was at this foster home for a little while, and I swear it was the happiest time of my life. The woman who hosted me made this pie—apple, cinnamon, and brown sugar and I swear that's what Sasha tasted like," said Jack reverently. Then his expression of wonder crumpled, and he took a large swig of the Tru Blood as though he was trying to purge the memory of Sasha's taste from his mouth. "I'd never hurt her, but I just can't get the memory of her blood outta my head. And the whole house just smells like her and it's driving me _fucking crazy_ , and sometimes when she's sleeping and the whole house gets real quiet, I swear all I hear is her heartbeat and—" he sucked in a large breath.

Eric pursed his lips, forehead wrinkling as he thought back on Sasha's scent. Salt and the cool freshness of the sea, honey and a hint of spice. Could that have been cinnamon? But Jack's description of her scent didn't match his—Eric couldn't recall ever having come across the scent of apple pie, but he could guess it didn't smell like what he smelled off Sasha Buckley—and it didn't match what the vampire in his club had smelled, nor what Pamela had described.

A chameleon scent? Wasn't that new.

"We drink Tru Blood to fit in," said Eric. He had not forgotten the newborn's plight despite his unintended slip in information on Sasha. "Because it is expected of us. But most of us still drink from humans, as we should. There is nothing wrong with who we are, Jack. And there are plenty of willing donors from whom to sate your thirst," Eric paused for a moment. "As for Sasha Buckley…yes, she smells uncommonly good. I suspect that she is not entirely human…though you might suspect something as well. Maybe you even known the truth,"

"What if I fuck up?"

"It is likely you will," said Eric with a shrug. "You will learn to control your thirst with time. Drink Tru Blood for appearances, dine on humans for pleasure. As long as you don't leave a trail of bodies, you're in the clear,"

"Thanks," said Jack, looking mildly horrified at the prospect. "I think,"

They settled into an easy silence for a little while. Eric tuned into the sounds around them; the early evening was warm, the air thick, and it was filled with the buzzing of insects and the bustle of humans in their homes. A television was on in the house across the way; two doors down a mother was arguing with her toddler to get her to eat.

"What will you do when Miss Buckley leaves town? I don't imagine she'll be sticking around much longer," said Eric. There was a hint of regret he couldn't stop in his tone, regret that he'd been unable to foil the mystery she presented before her departure. "Will you continue to live here? I believe that this home belongs to Sam Merlotte, but I believe I might be able to sway him into buying. I can purchase this place, get you set up. I am duty bound as Sheriff to do this; you can rest assured that I consider that duty quite seriously,"

Jack looked at Eric, pondering him. He trusted that the ancient vampire meant what he said; despite the fact that the Viking was incredibly intimidating, Jack thought that the way he'd treated he and Sasha had thus far been honorable, and more tolerant than he would have ever expected of a vampire so ancient and powerful. But Jack didn't want to be tolerated, he wanted more than that. Acceptance, family; Sasha had outlined these things for him. And while a part of him was absolutely terrified of falling for such another daydream that would crumble to grasp the moment he reached out for it, he was also already hooked.

"I really appreciate that," said Jack slowly. "I do. But Sasha said she had stuff figured out for me, and I think I might take her up on it. It sounded really nice,"

"And this would in California?"

"Yeah. You ever been?" Jack asked, feeling somewhat awkward. He knew the Sheriff didn't exactly approve of Sasha meddling in vampire affairs, but he felt just comfortable enough to voice his plans. Had that been a mistake?  
"Yes," said Eric. His attention had been drawn elsewhere, down the road. "And I thoroughly detest it,"

A gleaming red Camaro rolled up the driveway. Sasha stepped out a moment later, boots hitting the ground hard and car door slamming with pent up anger. Her expression hardened even more when her eyes landed on Eric. His eyes roamed over her, drinking in the details whatever emotions were churning within her betrayed. He could sense her discomfort rolling off her in thick waves, and noted that her eyes were red, glassy, skin puffy beneath. She'd been crying.

Unease. Eric felt at unease as he saw the evidence of her tears. In the brief time he'd known her, she'd been strong and feisty, and seeing that she was vulnerable felt like something that he wasn't supposed to see. Yet she looked at him like she was simply bothered by his appearance, not like she was ashamed of her tears, like she wanted to run an hide from him. Perhaps this little girl was even braver than he'd originally thought; even as she knew that he was aware of the weakness and humanity that her tears displayed, her head remained held up high. When their eyes met, he swore she was daring him question her.

"Sasha, you okay?" asked Jack, looming over her at once. Sasha flashed him a quick, easy smile, nose twitching a bit as she waved him off. "Fine, but my allergies are a bitch though,"

It was the weakest lie she'd told since Eric had met her, and it sparked his curiosity further. He didn't take her for a crier. He knew her as secretive and charming, flirtatious and weary, and even as a small force of nature when she was angry. But seeing the evidence that she'd succumbed to her emotions made him uncomfortable, and his resolve in attempting to persuade more information out of her loosened some. Strange, because if she was currently emotionally vulnerable, she'd be easier to interrogate.

"Can I help you, Eric?" she asked, turning to him.

"Just checking on Jack," said Eric. "Technically, he's a ward of Area Five, and therefore mine for his first year as vampire,"

"I am so not in the mood for this right now," she grumbled. She walked around him to the house. "Jack wants to go to California. Let me know if you're thinking of keeping him bound here, so I can lawyer up,"

"Now, now," said Eric, unable to resist teasing her. "There's no need to bring the courts into this. I think we can figure this co-parenting thing out,"

Her look of weariness broke out in favor of a small, exasperated smile as she turned to face him, and he felt like he'd achieved some small victory by putting it there.

"I'm sure we can factor in some visitation rights," she told him. Eric smirked, eyes flicking back to the newborn, who was watching him with a hint of a scowl. He looked back down to Sasha. He considered her for a moment. "Accompany Jack to Fangtasia tonight. The boy's young, he needs to be feeding regularly on the real stuff,"

With that he turned on his heel, flashing Jack a wink before disappearing off down the road.

* * *

"What did Eric really want?" asked Sasha as she and Jack entered the house.

"I think he really was just checking up on me," said Jack. Sasha made a noncommittal hum of acknowledgement as she went to collapse on the couch. Her eyes slid shut as she leaned back, thoughts returning to her grandmother. While she hadn't expected butterflies and rainbows, she'd a small part of her had hoped for some sort of positive reunion.

"Sasha? What happened? I know it's not allergies," said Jack. He came to kneel in front of her, taking one of her hands into his, giving it a gentle affirming squeeze.

With a heavy sigh, Sasha filled Jack in on her visit to Montgomery House. He listened quietly, voicing his disappointment on her behalf when she finished.

"I'm really sorry," said Jack. "I don't even know what to say, actually. Ghost grandma? That in itself is already…wow,"

"Yeah," Sasha agreed with a little laugh of disbelief. "I don't know what it is about this town that draws crazy like bees to honey. I've met a few ghosts before, but _two_ ghosts in less than a week in this tiny hick town?"

"Is it true? What she said about vampires using witches?" asked Jack.

"Yes," said Sasha. "Which is why I keep what I am under wraps. There are those vampires that might see witches as a threat and prefer us exterminated; there are others who would prefer to harness a witch's power. I don't doubt that. But that is not what the vampires I fell in with are like. Just like humans, just like everything else, there are good and bad vampires and every shade of grey in between. Some of the worst, most brutal vampires were monsters long before they were turned, Jack,"

Jack considered this for a while. Sasha checked the clock on the DVD player beneath the TV. They still had hours before Fangtasia opened.

"Wanna veg out in front of the TV for a bit?" asked Sasha. Sitting on the couch and thinking about nothing for a while was very appealing.

"That actually sounds awesome," said Jack with a wide smile. "I was flipping through the DVDs earlier—can we watch Star Wars?"

"Sure," said Sasha. "But let's have a quick chat before we do about feeding habits. Jack, have you ever heard of Hep D?"

* * *

When they arrived at Fangtasia that evening, there was an unusual tension to the air. Sasha was weary for Jack, being back at the scene of his maker's execution, but the young vampire, true to his word, did not seem bothered. Instead he seemed interested in the dancing crowd, in the mingling of humans and vampires, and he didn't need much encouragement to go dance after two fangbangers spotted him and began to chirp around him for his attention. Sasha didn't think they were much older passed legal, and deeming them harmless, encouraged Jack to go dance.

She took a seat at a stool at the bar. Daniel was immediately in front of her, holding a finger to his lips went she made to order a drink. He winked and promised her a special concoction. As he prepared her drink, she tuned in to the atmosphere and conversations around them, well aware that the throne on the stage was empty and that Pam was also mysteriously absent.

Something was off, Sasha decided. Other than Daniel, the vampires in the bar seemed to be clumped in together more than usual, less concerned with picking up sex and blood and more with their conversations. Whispered conversations in many different languages swirled around her in and out of the heavy beat of the music. The murmurs were too low to figure out, but one thing was certain: something had happened in the vampire world.

Could this have something to do with Peter? Had word spread of his execution?

"Here you are," said Daniel, flipping his brown locks away from his forehead as he placed her drink in front of her. The concoction came in a short glass. It was an inviting blush pink, on the rocks, and adorned with a bright green umbrella and garnished with a slice of orange. "I'm calling this, 'The Buckley',"

Sasha returned Daniel's dazzling smile, flattered to have a drink named after her. For a moment she forgot about the hot vampire gossip fluttering around the room and picked up the glass, giving it an appreciative sniff. She clearly smelled the orange, but there was something else. Something like…

"Is that…hibiscus?" she asked, pleasantly surprised by the unusual choice.

"Yeah," Daniel grinned. He leaned his forearms on the black bar top, hands locking together as he pointed at her drink. "Hibiscus-infused gin, orange zest, hint of syrup for sweetness. I went to Hawaii a few years ago, when I still had a pulse. I crashed at a buddy's house, and his yard smelled just like that, I swear,"

"Then maybe you should call it the Hawaii," laughed Sasha. She took a sip of it through the little black straw. It was absolutely delicious, a perfectly balanced mixture of sweet and tangy. "Holy shit this is really good!"

Daniel grinned, shrugging like it was no big deal. "I'm calling it the Buckley cause I hadn't even thought about Hawaii 'til that first night you walked in. Your scent is just like it. Brought some really cool memories back,"

Sasha smiled. Daniel had somehow managed to mention her scent without making her feel like a Happy Hour special, rare for a vampire. With a final sweet smile, Daniel moved on to tend to other customers, leaving her to sip on her drink. He hadn't collected payment, so she shoved what she might have paid for the drink in the tip jar. She'd all but forgotten about the bar's odd atmosphere when a couple came to stand next to her.

Vampires, both female. They both clutched Tru Blood cocktails, though it didn't look like either of them intended on taking a single sip. Both were tall and willowy, dressed in black. The blonde's grey-blue eyes were heavily lined, and her companion was a Japanese female with incredibly long, inky black hair. They were sitting close enough that she could hear them speaking in German.

Their tones were clipped, obviously filled with some degree of edge and care. She tried to make out what they were saying, though it was difficult. German wasn't exactly a strong suit for her.

" _It might be time to find a new home,_ " the Japanese vampire was saying.

" _Give him a chance. Maybe he will surprise us,_ " disagreed the blonde. She said something else Sasha couldn't make out. "… _treason to speak of."_

 _"…know I'm right. A queen is dead…"_ Sasha smoothed out her frustration when a gaggle of loud fangbangers passed by, preventing her from hearing the rest. " _…should have been the Viking,_ "

What on earth was going on?

Sasha checked on Jack. He was still dancing with the two fangbangers. She made it her mission to listen in on as many conversations as she could to find out what was going on. If what she'd heard so far was correct, it sounded like Louisiana had a new monarch.

Pamela was in one of her moods, and while Eric could sympathize that it stemmed from worry now that Bill Compton was their new king, it did not help settle matters. Earlier in the evening he had been summoned to Compton's house by the new monarch, where he and the other Louisiana Sheriffs were made to swear fealty to their new king.

It had been, simply put, one of the worst fucking experiences of Eric's life.

Since the night of Sookie's disappearance, it had been the first of Bill Compton he had seen, and he had played their meeting very carefully. Bill had been just as weary of him, waiting for him to make the first move, which was why Eric had stuck to script and had been the first of the five Area sheriffs to swear loyalty. He had been pleased that Bill had been caught off guard by this gesture; he was certain that Bill was just itching for the chance to scratch him off, but even as King, he would be unable to get rid of his one thousand year old Sheriff without a valid reason. Eric would therefore have to walk on very thin ice.

Good thing he could fly.

Pamela's fears were not so easily put to rest, and her bitchiness had struck an all time high since Eric had returned to Fangtasia and filled her in. She hated knowing her maker had knelt before Bill Compton of all vampires, and she was fearful that Bill would make life hell for them purely out of spite.

"This is such fucking bullshit, Eric," Pamela fumed for the hundredth time that hour. Eric's patience was slipping. Fast.

"If I hear you bitching one more time, Pam, I will Command your mouth shut. Are we clear?"

Pamela's frosty eyes burned as she glared at him, but she remained silent. He hated issuing out Commands to her almost as much as she hated following them. But this wasn't so much about patience and frustration as it was about safety. The Vampire State of Louisiana was in a precarious position, just as any territory was at the start of a new monarch's reign. It didn't help that the circumstances regarding Bill's ascension were so dubious. He would not allow Bill to off him or Pamela on the charge of treason. He would play the part of good, obedient little Sheriff.

For now.

"Fine," growled Pam. She pushed off the wall she'd been leaning on, her red latex skirt catching the overhead light as she moved. "I'm going to go fuck something. Don't worry; if I kill it, I'll be sure to hide the body really well,"

Eric watched her go, lip curled in annoyance. He wondered if he should call her back; remind her that they _really_ could not be leaving a trail of bodies right now. But instead, she came storming back in of her own volition.

"Your mulatto bitch is here," she informed him, sounding disapproving as she did. Then she was gone again. Eric rolled his eyes, pushing off his desk.

Sure enough, Sasha Buckley was sitting in the same corner of his bar she had the night before, when he'd introduced Ginger to her and Sasha. He was surprised to find the newborn absent from her side; a quick scan of the bar found that he was on the dance floor, sandwiched between two fangbangers.

"Jack seems to be having a hard time coping," Eric noted dryly as he flashed into the seat next to Sasha's. Her eyes darted to him quickly, though he saw with a mild trace of amusement that she relaxed when she saw it him.

"I think he actually is," she admitted, watching the newborn sadly. "As far as I can tell, he considers himself pretty ramrod-straight, so I think he's feeling some kind of need to…I don't know, assert his sexuality? He was shy about a sales girl flirting with him two days ago, then suddenly he was making eyes at Jessica Hamby and now he's allowing two half naked fangbangers to grind all over him,"

Eric's gaze strayed to the two girls. He recognized them as regulars, often throwing themselves at his feet. He'd tasted neither girl, their immaturity unappealing to him.

"And you? No dance floor?" asked Eric.

"Not really in the mood," said Sasha. She picked up her drink and took a sip. When she placed her glass back down on her napkin, she placed it directly on the ring of condensation it had already left behind previously in the very center of the napkin. He didn't know why, but it made him want to smile.

"Atmosphere is a little different tonight," she commented.

"Is it?" asked Eric. Her eyes searched his.

"You know, rumor has it that you're the one that… _took care of_ Russell Edgington," said Sasha.

Oh, for fuck's sake. Did this girl really not know which topics to leave untouched when it came to vampires?

"And?"

"And you're old, yes," she said. She scooted closer to him, letting her curls fall over a shoulder, shielding her from the rest of the club. "But he's— _he was_ —three times your age. Now how the hell did you manage that?"

Eric sighed deeply, propping up an elbow on the tabletop so that he could tease one of her curls around his finger. He watched it spring back into place after a tug. To the rest of the bar, they might appear to be two lovers sharing an intimate conversation.

" _Allegedly_ , I took care of Russell Edgington," he said slowly. "And, yes, I'm considerably younger than he _was_. In this hypothetical scenario, if I couldn't possibly physically overwhelm such a vampire, then I might have had to outsmart him, wouldn't you say?"

The look of awe on her face brought a sense of satisfaction that had been missing in the whole Russell Edgington situation. Eric had expected a lot more gratification, especially with the knowledge that he was rotting in a block of cement even as they spoke. And yet Eric didn't feel any better—actually he felt worse knowing his entire family had been slaughtered over nothing more than livestock for that piece of shit's wolves. Sasha might have been a human, but she understood more than most just what it meant to outsmart a three-thousand-year old vampire. Still, Eric wasn't so sure why his instinct to brag was being set off.

It wasn't like he was trying to impress her.

"Why not you?" His gaze dropped down to the hand she'd placed on bicep to get his attention. For a moment he stared at it. "Why aren't you king?"

His eyes flicked back up to meet hers, trying to divine what motivation lay behind all of her questioning. If he wasn't mistaken, she wasn't anything but curious. Dangerously so. Then again, from what he heard she was friendly with Jessica Hamby. Perhaps, unbeknownst to Sasha, she'd been put up to these questions by Jessica, and she by Bill. Eric wouldn't put it past the new monarch.

"That isn't a question you want to be asking around," said Eric.

"I'm not asking around," said Sasha. "I'm asking you,"

"All the same," said Eric.

"I only ask because you're probably the oldest and most powerful vampire in the state, and clearly tested and proven what with Edgington—"

"Shut up, Miss Buckley," said Eric.

Her mouth snapped shut, though a small furrow formed between her brows and the corners of her mouth turned downward. He had to resist the urge to smooth out the creases in her skin with his forefinger.

It was her fucking _blood_. He swore it was. It was intoxicating and clouding his brain, drawing him in and just fucking with his head.

"Look, I know what's being said," he told her.

"It sounds like you have a lot of support if—"

"I don't want to be king. I've never been interested in a crown," he said, speaking over her.

"You don't?" she asked, thrown. "So being Sheriff isn't a stepping stone towards king?"

"You sound so surprised," murmured Eric. Had that been what she thought of him? That he was a power hungry vampire itching for a higher seat of power?

"I am," said Sasha. "I don't get why a vampire like you would end up Sheriff of an Area in godforsaken _Louisiana_ if it wasn't all a ploy to eventually wear the crown. How did you even get mixed up with Edgington? Were you involved with why he went off kilter on national television? Or did you just take care of it because it was happening in your Area? And why—" Sasha sighed, reaching for her drink instead. If a bit forlornly, she said, "If you were a little less interesting, I'd be less likely to get into trouble,"  
Eric chuckled at the candor of her admission. "Curiosity killed the cat,"

"Satisfaction brought it back," countered Sasha. Eric quirked an eyebrow in her direction, his hand dropping to caress the top of her thigh. Her skin was just as silky as he remembered.

"Is that what you're looking for? Satisfaction?" he purred. She stared at him for just a moment to long. Then she crossed her legs, elegantly putting some distance between them in the process.

"You're very respected as Sheriff, then, if you have so many vampires supporting the idea of you on the throne—"

"I said _shut up_ ," said Eric, exasperation and incredulity washing through. "Don't you ever listen?"

"We're just talking," said Sasha. "I don't see what the issue is, I mean unless—" She broke off, eyes narrowing. Her nose wrinkled—she was putting pieces together.

"You're not on good terms with the new king, are you?" she said so softly he almost didn't hear her. "Or the new king is very jealous of his position. Maybe both. Vampires supporting you weakens his claim. I can't imagine he'd be happy a vampire surely much older than he is having so much popular support,"

She looked up at him for confirmation.

"How do you even know about the new king? It's a very recent development," sighed Eric. She shrugged.

"Bar's full of vampires talking about it. I have ears,"

"You'd be far less trouble if you were just a pretty face, Miss Buckley. But instead you're far too observant for you own good,"

"Thanks," she said brightly, pride plumping her cheeks as she smiled. "So I'm right?"

"You're trouble," repeated Eric.

"I'm a historian," she said. "Asking questions is kinda my thing,"  
"I think you've asked enough about me," said Eric. "Let's talk about you,"

"To be clear, you didn't actually answer any of my questions. I did all the inferring here," pointed out Sasha.

A hint of a smile threatened to change his expression. He gestured a pale hand in the direction of her drink. It was mostly ice now. "Would you like another drink?" asked Eric.

"So you can liquor me up and get me to divulge all of my deepest, darkest secrets?" asked Sasha. Her smile was far too devious for such a thing to be that easy, he decided. "Yeah, all right."

Without tearing his eyes from hers—they were absolutely stunning he decided—he called for Daniel to refill her drink. He appeared at their table, grinning his easy going smile as he arrived.

"Another Buckley for Miss Buckley?" asked Daniel. When Sasha nodded, he turned to Eric "Anything for you, sir?"

"That will be all," dismissed Eric. He turned to Sasha with an inquiring expression.

"I didn't realize you were on our menu," said Eric. Rather than be annoyed at his double entendre, she laughed.

"Daniel just made up a drink earlier, and he named it after me. Apparently it's what I smell like to him. Romantic, huh?" grinned Sasha.

Interested, he nodded to her empty glass. "And that would be?"

"Hibiscus, orange, and gin," said Sasha with a shrug. "I'll have to take his word for it,"

Eric slid closer to her, resting a hand on her hip as he leaned over her, pressing his nose just beneath her ear. She froze at his sudden nearness, breath hitching and heartbeat skipping. He inhaled deeply; the sea during winter, honey and spice. Maybe something more—crisp mountain air and trees.

He could tell she wanted nothing more than to push him away; the hand she'd placed on his chest wasn't pushing him away, but it wasn't exactly pulling him in any closer either. Eric had to marvel at Jack's self control; having his face in her neck was having him second guess his no-feeding rule at the bar, and he did not think that at Jack's age he would have restrained himself from tasting her. She just smelled so fucking _good_ ;

He also would not harm her. The longer he stayed pressed against her skin, the more wild an effect her scent had on him. Just as he wanted to sink his fangs into her, he also felt his arousal ignite and something more: his protective instinct. He might call it a possessive instinct if it wasn't so undermined by a sudden desire to please her.

Eric pulled away from Sasha Buckley just far enough to look her in the eyes. Her hot breath mingled with his cool breath, and his hand came to rest on her cheek, thumb teasing her bottom lip. Her heart rate sparked again as she realized his intention, he leaned in—

Sasha shied away, eyes on something over her shoulder. "Thanks Daniel,"

Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Daniel had arrived with Sasha's drink. Daniel flashed her a friendly smile, another to Eric, though this was filled with good-natured envy, and left them to their dark corner of the club.

"Huh," said Eric. He pulled away to lean back against the black leather cushions, throwing an arm casually over the back of the booth back. "Absolutely fascinating,"

For her part, Sasha looked dazed and confused, gaze dropping down to her hands. She flexed her fingers, and then reached for her drink. As she did, her ring glinted in the flashing strobe lights. It was a simple gold band, the gems it once held missing from their grooves.

"Don't do that again," she told him. Her voice was steadier than he expected.

"Why not, afraid of what might happen?" asked Eric.

"I don't do one-night stands,"

"Are you asking me to go steady?"

"I'm asking you to respect my personal space," said Sasha. She said it firmly enough that the flirtatious, playful bubble they'd been in was officially popped. He'd missed something.

"And by that do you mean me imaging the taste of your blood, or that I was about to kiss you?" His voice was laced by curiosity, but there was something about her firmness, her rigidity and composure that was alluring. She wasn't acting coy with him, she meant every word, and yet it was having the opposite effect she might have desired.

"I don't care what you imagine," said Sasha. "Just keep your hands, dick, and fangs to yourself,"

Eric wasn't exactly sure what he'd done to incite this reaction from her, but he liked it. It wasn't the first time he'd come on to her—neither of them expected it to be the last—so what had it been? Was it the attempted kiss specifically? She found him attractive, he was certain of it, so why was she cold all of a sudden? She said she didn't do what nightstands; was she afraid of breaking her own rule with him? He hadn't given it much thought, but he hadn't taken her to be a no-sex outside of a relationship type of girl. Perhaps because of all her claims about being around vampires, he'd associated their same sexual liberation to her.

"Very well," said Eric. "I will keep all three to myself until you beg otherwise,"

Her eyes rolled and lip corners twitched; whatever had offended her she'd moved past, and he knew he was forgiven. Eric was, at the very least, already pleased by this latest encounter of theirs. He wasn't exactly sure what to do with all the information he was gathering yet—her scent, yet another vampire recognizing it as entirely different to what he smelled, her strong observational skills, the way the scent of her blood alone was affecting him—but he stored it away all the same.

"You have a high tolerance?"

"Excuse me?"

Eric gestured to her drink. "You don't seem all that concerned with mixing alcohol and your secret-keeping,"

Sasha shrugged, a small shy smile gracing her features. "I went through a brief party girl phase when I was eighteen. I know my limits now,"

"Due tell," purred Eric. She shook her head, fighting a smile.

"I'm sure a respectable vampire such as yourself wouldn't want such sordid details," she told him.

"Tease," said Eric.

"So why don't you just ask whatever it is you want to ask me?" said Sasha. "Maybe you'll get lucky tonight,"

"We've already established that's not happening," murmured Eric. "Besides, I already know you won't answer the questions I want to ask,"

"Sounds familiar,"

"How about this," proposed Eric. "I'll make assumptions about you, and you tell me how close I am. Deal?"

He was unsurprised when she agreed. In this she was like vampires, easily drawn into games. Vampires like games all too well, and the higher the stakes, the more fun.

Eric studied her for a moment. "The first night we met, you said the car you were driving was stolen. So, I'm going to say that you left California because of a bad break up, and you decided to keep your ex's car,"

Sasha smiled and took another sip of her drink. "Absolutely not,"

Again, this was no surprise. Still, he wanted to get the jilted lover guess out of the way.

"But there was a boyfriend?"

"Definitely not," said Sasha. "But I think you'd already assumed as much. You want to get me drunk, you want to keep asking me bullshit questions just to get my guard down…you must be very bored, Mr. Northman. Am I hot or cold?"

Eric smirked at her, hiding the ripple of surprise that shot through him. "Hot,"

"Liar," she said quickly, grinning. "Therefore, for every wrong assumption about me you make, you answer one of my questions,"

He'd been leaning towards her, and now he sat back once more, considering this proposal. Eric wasn't too sure he liked this feeling, like _he'd_ been the one to have fallen into a trap. His own trap; so concerned with likening her to a vampire, he hadn't stopped to think he might be drawn out into the open in a similar way. But now that she had proposed her own set of rules to the game, giving him something to lose, his interest in it had increased tenfold.

"Such fucking trouble," he murmured. What could she really ask that he'd be reluctant to divulge? Whatever high tolerance she boasted, the girl was drinking, sipping more strongly than she might even be noticing. "I will answer with a true or false, Miss Buckley,"

"If you're so concerned with what's being said about you and a throne you don't want, there is no way you're wasting time with me, a human, just because you're bored. There's a reason you're so interested in me; true or false?"

"True," said Eric. "My turn. "You weren't kicked out of your nest; you left voluntarily,"

"Spot on," said Sasha.

It was still Eric's turn, until he got it wrong anyway. "From what you've said in the past about your nest, they're your family. So why leave? Maybe because something happened at the nest that frightened you,"

"Cold," murmured Sasha. She played with the black straw of her drink for a moment, twirling it around the glass. "You're masquerading your interest in me as your duty as Sheriff; you think I'm something other than human so you can pretend that I might be a threat so you just _have_ to find out what I am while I'm in your Area, but the truth is I'm just a distraction, aren't I?"

If his blood could run cold, it might have, thought Eric. He was stupefied by her accuracy, and for a moment he wondered if she could read minds—vampire minds. When he said nothing, she smiled in satisfaction.

"Thought so," said Sasha. "I'm interesting, but I'm not _that_ interesting."

"I wouldn't sell yourself short just yet," muttered Eric. Perhaps starting this game had been a mistake after all, because curious as her nature was, he hadn't counted on her own motivations, on her asking very specific questions and what they'd reveal about him, nor did he expect her to read him so well in such a short time.

 _Observational, indeed_ , thought Eric.

"If this wasn't a game of true or false," said Sasha. "I'd ask her name,"

He didn't deign her with a response, and perhaps that was answer enough. So far she'd more than leveled the playing field between them—dare he say it, she might be at the advantage.

A little irritated now, Eric said, "You're human,"  
"Ding-ding-ding," she said. "Hardly fair, because I gave you that one just now,"

"You would make for an absolutely lethal vampire," said Eric, shaking his head.

Unexpectedly, Sasha's focus broke at his comment, her cheeks flushing beneath her toffee skin. He realized belatedly that she'd taken his words as a compliment.

He would realize, someday, that it was that blush that did him in. How she'd gone from so confidently reading him, a thousand year old vampire, to blushing because he'd insinuated she'd make a fantastic vampire.

For now, Eric could only feel uncertainty. Uncertainty because he'd been so sure of what he was, what he felt—at least until this very moment. Meeting Sookie Stackhouse had awakened in him feelings he had not felt in centuries, had awakened _possibility;_ it had been an unexpected comfort, because although he would not dare call what he felt for the blonde fae girl love, whatever it was, he might have once called it a weakness. Now, after experiencing the loss of Godric, Eric wasn't so quick to call such things like love weaknesses. It was daunting to think that a vampire like his maker might choose to meet the sun; Eric did not fear death, would meet death gladly in open battle once again, but the thought of seeking out death simply because there was nothing more to discover, nothing left to fear, because centuries and centuries _had been enough_? No. So yes, Sookie Stackhouse had been a comfort, to know not only that he had discovered something new, but that he, a being that never changed physically, might still experience something new... she'd been a breath of fresh air, a relief.

He had wanted Sookie Stackhouse; he still wanted her, right? His little competition for the unlikely little blonde had been new, exciting, her resistance to yield to him made interesting at the risk he might lose to a competitor, even if that competitor was Bill Compton of all creatures. Eric hadn't wanted anything—bar vengeance—as much as he had wanted Sookie in a very long time, but what he was feeling now was not that. His want for Sookie he understood—she appealed to him, her and her sweet, sweet blood. Blood that was as useful as it was delicious, and her ability, and certainly her physical attractiveness—but _this_?

Sasha Buckley had shot out of left field so unexpectedly even he, who was so used to being in control, was at a loss. And suddenly he didn't just simply want her—oh no he _desired_ her in a way that served no logic, on a level so raw and primal it made him dizzy. He wanted to unravel her just as she was unraveling him, wanted to fuck and feed and _devour her_ —

"Eric? Are you alright?"

He was certain it was the first time she'd directly addressed him by his first name.

Her blush was still there—Eric tore his gaze away from her cheeks, meeting hers. He realized he'd been frozen for a while, and that he was very nearly on the edge of losing all self-control. There was really no telling whether he'd simply bend her over and fuck her over the table in full view of the bar, or if he was going to drain her dry and then some.

Her. Goddam. Blood. He was no longer charmed, no longer fascinated or intrigued as he realized what was truly at work. That was it—this was all an illusion. It had to be. It _was_ —she could say she was human all she wanted, but even Sookie's blood, enticing as it was, didn't _influence_ him by scent alone. Eric didn't know if she knew its effect, if she was oblivious to it, but he'd had enough. Whatever the fuck it was, he refused to act the fool and let it rule him. Whatever was going on here, whether Sasha Buckley was actively trying to fuck with him or not—Eric wasn't having it.

Before she could blink he was on his feet.

"We're done here," he snarled. Eyes blown wide in shock at his sudden fierceness, she opened her mouth to say something—perhaps apologize. He didn't stick around long enough to find out.

As he stalked to his office, vampires sprang out of his path, avoiding looking directly at him as they felt his furious energy. All moved away from him except one, idiot human.

"Eric, hi, do you know where Pam went? Because I need her signature—"

Her wrist was in his iron grip in the next second, words cut off as he sped her to his office. It was a wonder he didn't break her as he pushed her against the door of his office, his hand wrapped around her throat and twisting it to expose the long column of her pale flesh.

"OhmyGodohmyGod—it's finally happening, isn't it? Oh my god!"

Eric grit his teeth harshly against her high-pitched squeal. "I'm not fucking you, Ginger, now shut up while I feed."  
She went silent, though her pulse only shot higher. Perhaps she'd finally gained enough sense to notice he was in a black mood. His fangs descended and he sank them into Ginger's artery. She cried out, her exclamation quickly becoming a moan of pleasure. Her bony fingers scrambled up his back, twisting in the hair at the nape of his neck. She began to spasm against him.

"Fuck yeah, baby! Rough, just like that!"

Eric groaned, rolling his eyes. Her blood, the whole experience, it was a poor substitution for what he truly craved.

Pulling away from Ginger—her thin arms tried to keep him locked in plain in vain, trying to take advantage of the rare opportunity as he rarely fed from her—he backed away, sighing in a mixture of frustration. He was still an unidentifiable mixture of emotions, and his fangs still ached.

"Wow!" gasped Ginger. "That was, I ain't ever had an orgasm from just a simple bite like that before!"

Eric's eyes lingered on her neck. He'd bit down so hard that around his fang marks were the traces of the marks made by his blunt teeth.

"Get out of my sight, Ginger," he hissed.

She shuffled away, still high on her post-orgasmic bliss. Collapsing in his desk chair, Eric rubbed at his temples. She might not have realized how right she was, but perhaps Pamela had been right. He didn't not need to be concerning himself with Sasha Buckley, especially not if the scent of her blood alone had such a strong influence. Had that been how she'd come by her nest? Used her scent to manipulate vampires to care and provide for her? Was she that conniving?

"No more," Eric murmured to himself.

Jack Connors was being taken care of, and soon Sasha Buckley would be gone from his territory. He would not have to worry about her or her blood ever again.

* * *

 **Holy shit this was a long ass chapter! It originally was going to be on the shorter side of average for this story (somewhere around 5,500-6,000) and then I wanted to add in ONE conversation between Sasha and Eric and it became this monstrous 10,300 word chapter. So there's a lot to unpack here, between Sasha and her grandmother and Eric taking over this chapter, which, admittedly I adored.**

 **To the guest that reviewed: thank you for your review! I was a little discouraged by the lack of response to the last to chapters, especially when I saw there were a lot of views. Yeah, this story is well outlined, as is it's sequel so no fears about it being left unfinished!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Vixen**

Someone was knocking on the door. Sasha checked her watch; it was just a little after sunrise. Who could it be?

Dragging herself from bed and covering her mouth as a violent yawn over took her, she padded barefoot to the front door. Bleary eyed and with big afro of frizzy curls, she answered the door to a complete stranger. He was a dark skinned man, somewhere in his late forties, maybe early fifties. He wore a UPS uniform, yet there was something about his blank expression that seemed…off.

"Sasha Buckley?"

"That's me," she said, a little confused. "How can I help you?"

"What is your favorite flavor of bubblegum?"

"My… _oh_ ," Sasha blinked the sleep from her eyes, waking up as she realized what was going on, that he'd just asked her a security question. The man was glamoured. She quickly answered, "I don't have one,"

The man nodded once sharply at her, and then reached into his duffle bag and retrieved a small package from its depths. He handed it to her, and then he was walking away from her, disappearing into a car waiting down the road for him.

She shut the door, her attention falling onto the package in her hands. She opened it carefully. Inside was a small wooden ring box. The tree of life was inscribed onto its face. She pried it open gently.

Inside was, predictably, a ring. Three thin bands of white gold braided around a central sapphire. It was a mesmerizing ring, if not more than she was used to wearing. She slipped off the broken gold ring from her left hand, replacing it with the new ring. For a moment she admired the ring in her hand. Then she smiled, relieved to once again be in possession of a countermeasure to her magic.

She texted a quick thank you to Malachi, and then she climbed back into bed. It was the most peaceful sleep she got in weeks.

* * *

 _One week later._

* * *

It was hard to say who was in a worse mood these days: Eric Northman or his progeny. Rumors circulated wide through Area Five of course; vampires frequenting the bar suspected that stunning blond duo's lethal disposition was on account of the new monarch. Eric had made only one public announcement regarding the new king. From his seat on the throne not long after Bill's ascension and on a night that humans would only describe as ordinary, he had quietly threatened them all that Bill was now King, that he had sworn fealty, and they would all do best to bow before their new king. The subtext: if you didn't agree with Bill's reign, leave Eric's and his Pam's names out of it.

The humans had been unaware of the message in the air between the raging music and alcohol. But the vampires in the club had all taken his words to heart, because they preferred them to the stake treason warranted.

The humans that worked at Fangtasia didn't know such specifics, and though they didn't dare complain out loud for fear of one of their supernatural bosses overhearing them (Pam, who's ruthlessness and impatience far outweighed Eric's in particular struck chords of fear into the very souls of the Fangtasia employees), they all knew that _something_ had happened, and they all strove to work their hardest so as not to be singled. No one wanted to be the object upon which a vampire vented their frustrations out on.

Even Ginger was mercifully quiet and hardworking, keeping her fuck ups to an all-time low.

It wasn't often that she fought with her maker, but it was bound to happen. Pamela Swynford de Beufort prided herself on being self-aware. So while she could easily describe herself as rather stunning, deliciously cunning of mind, and as a prolific lover, she also knew herself to be sarcastic, petulant, and even lazy to a fault. And Eric, even when it came to her—perhaps _especially_ when it came to her, well his patience wasn't exactly boundless. She annoyed and needled him often, mostly when she wanted his undivided attention as daughters were wont to do, and she had the ability to read him so incredibly well that since her grandmaker had met the true death, no one else had rivaled her in that particular field.

Well, no one _had_ that ability, at least until the other night.

Pam had no problem admitting that she was wise beyond her years. And so when she'd laid eyes on Sasha Buckley and noted her maker's behavior in regards to the girl, she'd been quick to put two and two together and know that they'd soon have a problem on their hands.

Sasha fucking Buckley, for whatever reason, seriously got under her maker's skin. And Pam, well, she just didn't get it, not that she ever did when it came to Eric and his amusements of the heart. Sure, she was pretty—in some form or another, Eric's little infatuations always were—and okay, she _understood_ their kind. Who the fuck cared? To Pam, the most interesting thing about the girl was her choice of footwear, but unless she could fuck like a Gold Medal champion and her goddam pussy squirted out rainbows when she came, Pam couldn't understand the appeal. Even her blood—sure, it was a little mysterious that it seemed to smell different to her than it smelled to Eric—wasn't _that_ fucking incredible. Pam didn't doubt that she wouldn't make for a tasty meal, and yes, Chanel No. 5 always did bring about a string of fond memories for her, but she wasn't about to rip the lid off of her perfume bottle and chug it straight from the neck, either.

Although, she might just be tempted to rip Sasha's head off and drink from _her_ neck, if only to get rid of the little pest.

Pam parked her little red Corvette outside of Eric's building and reached for the garment bag protecting her metaphorical white flag. They'd been snippy with each other recently—Eric still hadn't told her what had happened at Fangtasia the other night—but it had been nearly a week and a half since then, and the little California bitch hadn't stepped foot in Fangtasia since. Jack had, and so it was safe to assume she was still around, but she hadn't made an appearance, and Pam was certain Eric hadn't gone to see her. This would have pleased her if she hadn't had to deal with a week of Eric on the most massive period of her long life. He'd been a little better last night at work, and she hoped tonight he'd finally be bearable.

She'd be gone soon, anyway, and they had the coronation to go to this weekend. Pam knew she and Eric would need to show a united front as they proceeded onto the ass kissing of the century, and it would all start by them looking absolutely fabulous side by side.

Riding the elevator all the way up to the penthouse suite, Pam forced herself to put her pettiness aside (Eric would be proud, once he came to his senses) and instead fantasized about what she and her maker would look like at the coronation. Vampires from all over the country would be present—Monarchs wouldn't dare leave their states of course, but they'd certainly send their most important representatives and ambassadors. Pam was willing to bet that, compared to that fuckin' fry of a vampire Bill Compton and his cheap little progeny, it would be her and her maker that would look like the real royalty.

 _Eat your heart out, Compton_ , she thought smugly.

"Oh. My. God,"

She'd let herself into Eric's apartment, and for the first time ever it was in disorder. Her first instinct was to slip into a defensive crouch, eyes and ears peeled for whatever danger she'd intruded upon. She held the garment bag behind herself to protect it, her free hand out in front of her, ready to use her deadly nails to attack who ever had broken in.

"Pamela?"

Eric almost sounded confused. She watched in surprise as he strode out of the hallway and through the living room towards her. He was absolutely naked, and for a wild moment she thought perhaps he had a girl over—or four, by the looks of the messy living room. Shit was knocked over everywhere. But Eric didn't bring anyone back to his penthouse, preferring it to be entirely _his_ , a break from the hustle and bustle of Fangtasia, and the bullshit of both humans and vampire kind, and he didn't bring over humans to feed on, much less fuck.

"What the fuck went on here?" she asked.

Most of the mess comprised of books. They were strewn all about the room, across the couch and the coffee table, on the floor. Eric looked around, a mild trace of regret on his features as he tracked her gaze around the room.

"I was a little frustrated," he admitted, a hand through his hair as he passed her. It was wet; he'd just gotten out of the shower.

"Sexually or…academically?" asked Pam, still completely bewildered. It was mostly books strewn about the room, books and piles of pages. She went to place the garment bag she still held on the couch. A book caught her eye, and she picked it up in exchange for the garment bag. She flipped to a page that had been bookmarked.

She scanned the page, her confusion only growing as she scanned its contents. "Succubae?" asked Pam.

Eric grabbed a blood bag from the kitchen fridge and brought it to the living room, dropping onto the couch next to her. She chastised him for dripping water onto the fine leather; she'd picked out the couch herself.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Just researching," said Eric. "It seems as though all manner of beings are running around unchecked in my territory. I like to be informed,"

Pam's perfectly plucked eyebrow remained arched. "Sure, we've got too many wolves for my liking, and that iffy shifter with the ugly bar, but a fucking succubus? They don't exist. Not anymore, if they ever did—and if they do, well, demons know better than to fuck with our kind,"

Eric shrugged off-handedly. His casualness was making her suspicious. "I might have though the same of maenads. And succubae are very minor demons. They are incredibly human passing, which is why it stands to reason that some of them survived the purge that their brethren did no,"

"The maenad's blood affected vampires badly," said Pam. "Is that your worry? That, if they still existed, a succubus might be able to harm a vampire? Do you think you've identified one in Area 5—son of a bitch, Eric. Is this about the fucking girl?"

Eric shot her a look that told her to watch it. "Succubae have been called many things over time—mermaids, sirens, witches, even vampires. Whatever they are, they use sex as their weapon, and they have been known to be able to turn lust into the same kind of weapon that glamor is for us,"

"And you think, what, that this sex-glamor can be used on us?" she sounded skeptical to her own ears. "So you think Sasha Buckley is a fucking succubus?"

Eric was on his feet in a flash, pacing the room. If she didn't know any better, she'd say that the vampire pacing before her was actually…embarrassed.

What on earth was going on?  
"Succubae…they have what is referred to as a siren song. The song is different for each victim, tailored to what will attract them most. If you don't take a siren song literal, what do you think that might mean for a vampire?"

Pam was still skeptical as fuck, but she understood where Eric was going with this. "Her blood? That's why you think she smells different to us?"

"It could be one explanation," said Eric. "And it would explain why I'm so…"

"So?"

"Attracted," Eric said curtly. "The very thought of her makes me so…"

Eric glanced down at his lap, frowning. Pam followed his gaze. She smirked.

"Hard?"  
"This isn't funny, Pamela," he growled. In a flash he was gone, but she could hear him rummaging around through his closet. She sighed and reclined on the couch. She spotted a glass of whiskey on the coffee table between two stacks of books. Sometimes vampires were driven to drink substances other than blood out of pure habit. Alcohol of course had no effect on them, and most found it uncomfortable to have to use the bathroom afterword, and therefore avoided it all the same. Some still drank for the taste of it, though that was mostly wine, which for some reason was still incredibly delicious.

Second to blood of course and, if you asked Pam, what lay between a woman's legs. But it certainly had its appeal.

Eric reappeared in the living room, clothed now. She quickly wiped her look of condescending amusement clear of her face. He was agitated enough, and she didn't want to add fuel to this fire. "When she was at Fangtasia the other night, it wanted more than to just fuck her or drink from her. Her scent was intoxicating, heady, but it was affecting me in unexpected ways. I wanted to protect her, please her… if I didn't know any better, I might say I was being glamored,"

Pam frowned. Okay, admittedly that was worrisome. "Say your little theory is true. Why aren't I affected?"

"Because she's working _me_ specifically," said Eric like it was the most obvious this in the world. "You don't have what she wants,"

"That being?" Pam asked impatiently. He swooped down to grab his crystal glass. Eric knocked the whiskey back, then gestured a hand expansively in his own direction.

"Power. Wealth. Status," he said. "Maybe she's a siren, maybe she's not. I think she uses the affect her siren song has—be it blood or something other—to lure beings more powerful than she into a trap. Then, when she has them ensnared, she uses them for protection, for money, whatever she wants,"

"Huh," said Pam. "I guess it's not completely out of the realm of possibility,"

If Pam had such an ability, she might be tempted to do the same. And it might make sense to want to enchant and seduce creatures like vampires when succubae had been so hunted. Who would cross a vampire such like Eric Northman? If Eric's little theory was true—and Pam did think he was reaching, maybe out of sheer stubbornness to simply admit he'd been thoroughly charmed by yet another human—then maybe Pam could respect the girl a little. He idea of having the superpower to turn powerful beings into sex slaves was suddenly Pam's new fantasy.

"What about Jack? You think she was somehow involved, or she really did just happen upon the little brat and use him to her advantage?"

"No," Eric said quickly. "That, that was very real. I could tell."

When he became silent, his eyes somewhere far off, Pam sighed. It didn't matter anymore. Sasha had kept her distance so far and, if what Eric said was right, it was likely she'd cut her losses and she'd be moving onto the next sucker.

Ha. The next _sucker_.

"We don't have to worry about her anymore, so let me brighten your night with something far more important," said Pam. Eric glanced her way, intrigued.

"Oh?"

She grabbed the garment back and held it aloft, opening it teasingly slowly to reveal a custom Prada tuxedo.

"You don't even know the balls I had to break to have this made on such short notice," Pam said proudly, stroking the satin lapels of the jacket lovingly. "But Eric you are going to look like a fucking king in this,"

Eric's expression dissolved into an indulgent grin. "It's beautiful, Pam,"

"Just wait until you see what _I'm_ wearing," she said. "Vampires will either want to be us, fuck us, or stake us,"

He chuckled, drawing her in for a quick kiss. She took it as an apology for his recent behavior, and knew that things had been smoothed out between them once more.

* * *

"Jesus Christ, Sasha, your hand-eye coordination ain't for _shit,_ "

Sasha rolled her eyes at Jason Stackhouse's taunt, knocking her shoulder into his as she went to take his spot before the dartboard. She closed an eye, squared her back and shoulders, angled her hips. She threw the dart—

And missed. Gloriously. It impaled itself in the wall just to the left of the dartboard.

Hoyt let out a loud peal of laughter, clapping Sasha on her shoulders. "Jason's mean, but he's also right. You know you're supposed to _hit_ the dartboard, not everything around it, right?"

Sasha scowled good-naturedly at the boys as they continued teasing the hell out of her. Since meeting them for lunch, they'd been playing darts for some half an hour, where they all quickly learned that Sasha was impressively terrible at the game. She would have suggested pool—she was at least half-decent at that game—but when she'd realized that today was one of Jason's rare days without brooding and bloodshot eyes, she hadn't minded playing at her expense. Jason's sister had been missing for nearly a month now, and from whispers she heard around, most presumed her dead.

He'd now thrown himself into becoming a deputy, and from what Sasha saw, that wasn't going exactly swimmingly. Jason was frustrating Hoyt to know end, who was attempting to help him study for the written exam. But Jason seemed more concerned with his physical fitness test than the written exam, which was silly, because she'd seen him shirtless before. His morning jogging route took him right past Sasha's rented bungalow, and they'd taken to running together in the mornings. She'd been grateful for the exercise; since leaving California, she felt like all she'd really done was sit around and gain wait from eating at Merlotte's and drinking more than she ordinarily would have. But mostly, the running was good for clearing her head, and it was familiar routine to get back to. For Jason, it seemed an escape from the studying he was dreading.

Running, escaping, avoiding. She could relate. She was _still_ in Bon Temps, Louisiana. It had now been a whole three weeks since the Camaro had broken down outside of the small town, two whole weeks longer than she'd planned on staying. She was also still avoiding Montgomery Manor, and she'd added Fangtasia to her list of places to avoid.

Two whole weeks since she'd visited Fangtasia.

"Fuck off," said Sasha, sticking her tongue out childishly at the two men. Hoyt wasn't playing, just observing as he finished up his second burger. He offered plenty commentary, though, suggesting how she should hold her wrist and how she should stand.

"Go on, Sasha," said Jason. "Your turn again,"

"Yeah, 'n this time try aimin' for anywhere but the dartboard. Maybe you'll hit it that way," added Hoyt oh-so helpfully. Sasha laughed. She lined up her shot, threw.

"Aha!" she cheered. She'd hit the dartboard—even if it had only been the outer most ring, she'd hit her mark. Sort of.

"Told ya," said Hoyt, grinning. "How's Jack?"

"Jack's fine, thanks for asking," said Sasha, smiling at him. Hoyt wasn't crazy about the newborn's obvious crush on his girlfriend, but he also recognized that he must be going through something very difficult with his newfound vampirism, just as Jess had. Truly though, Hoyt couldn't even begin to imagine.

Over the last two weeks, Jack swore up and down that he was fine. But he was also spending more and more time at Fangtasia feeding, and she couldn't help but wonder if this newfound blood thirst was less linked with his newborn status and more with the whole mess with Peter. He still refused to talk to her about it, and Sasha had chosen to trust that while he was at Fangtasia, Eric Northman was keeping an eye on Jack.

 _Trust_ ; she'd have to trust the Sheriff was doing so, because she hadn't exactly seen nor spoken to him since that night two weeks ago when he'd all but kicked her out of his club.

"How about you, you all right, Sasha?" asked Hoyt.

"I'm good," assured Sasha. _Good and dumb,_ she thought. And there it was, once again on her mind. Eric Northman and their last encounter. She still didn't know how to feel about that night, but out of the mess of complex emotions, one thought rang startlingly clear: she'd been stupid. She still wasn't sure what she'd said to the trigger the Viking just as she had. Had it been her observations of him, or the fact that she'd been so accurate? _He'd_ been the one to initiate their little game, _he'd_ been the one to accept her terms. Had he so grossly underestimated her that when she'd read him correctly, he'd panicked? He didn't seem the type.

And yet, there with his fury, every time Sasha thought back to that moment he'd snapped, she could have sworn that she'd detected a hint of panic, like he'd been terrified that she'd seen something of him, something real and close to his core. Had it been her insinuations regarding the woman in his life? No, it couldn't be that. She refused to believe he'd act so strangely over something like that, although it did leave her very curious. Who was this woman—because Sasha believed without a shadow of a doubt that there was a woman—and what was she like?

 _Incredible_ , decided Sasha. _Absolutely incredible to keep the attention of a vampire like him_.

Whatever it was, Sasha had kept her distance, and Eric his. Maybe he'd lost whatever interest in her he had, or maybe this was his mercy: she'd managed to offend him, and he'd let her walk out of his bar in one piece. Still, Sasha regretted that night, if only because she would have liked to part from him on good terms. She'd never met a creature like Eric Northman, and she suspected she never would again. She was certain she'd be seeing him tonight in any case, though it would probably be nothing more than a curt hello and goodbye between them.

 _Oh well_.

Sasha moved to lean against the wooden pillar nearest them, reaching for her lemonade on the high table Hoyt was sitting at.

"All right, how about this, since I'm a nice guy and all," said Jason, winking at her. "You make this one last shot, anywhere on the board, and I'll buy all our drinks and lunch. Hoyt's too,"

"Yeah, real nice," said Hoyt rolling his eyes. "He always makes these bets when he knows he can't lose,"

Jason argued indignantly that wasn't true at all; Sasha laughed and went to grab a dart. Again she lined herself up, focusing on the central red bull's eye of the dartboard. As she focused, she felt a tingling current start beneath her skin, making its way down her arm to the tips of her fingers where they wrapped around the dart in her hand. Then it died out once it reached her hand, negated by the ring's binding power. A small voice in her head whispered that if she just removed that ring, she'd make the shot. She shook her head distractedly.

 _Smack._ The dart hit the wall and fell to the floor.

"So, I guess I'm buying," said Sasha.

"Nah, but only 'cause you're leavin' tomorrow," said Jason, slinging an arm around her shoulder. "But no you lost. Like, real, real bad."

As Jason went to go pay their tab, Sasha began to feel the anxiousness that had befallen her all week long.

Tonight, her two worlds would be colliding. Through their friendship with Jessica Hamby, she and Jack had been invited to her maker's coronation. The chance to attend a vampire coronation had once again put the breaks on her plans for a quick getaway from Bon Temps. But after discussing it with Eoin, who'd agreed to meet her in Louisiana as he'd been tasked by the King of California with accompanying his envoy to the coronation, she'd agreed to stay put. It was, after all, only two more weeks.

"Hey, Sasha?"

Sasha looked up to find Hoyt watching her a little anxiously. Jason had left, presumably to go settle their tab.

"What's up, Hoyt?"  
"I uh," Hoyt scratched up at the back of his head, shifting a little uncomfortably. "I…look, you're goin' to that vampire party tonight, right?" he asked.

 _Party_ ; she nearly cringed at the word. Like she'd willingly stick around this godforsaken small town of Bon Temps for just any _vampire party_. But a vampire coronation? Hell fucking yeah she'd slum it in Bon Temps for the chance at one of those. Literally history in the making, and she'd be getting front row seats. Would there be drama? Would the vampires that wanted Northman in charge make a fuss, or would things go smoothly?

Jessica had been very excited, walking around Merlotte's every night with an extra bounce to her step. But it seemed that for whatever reason, she wasn't so excited to be sharing the news with her boyfriend.

"Yeah, I'm going," said Sasha. Hoyt nodded.

"Look, I know your friends with Jess, so I don't wanna put you in a weird position or nothing just… she said I couldn't go because it wasn't really a human event…and well, you're human so…" he trailed off uncomfortably, and Sasha had to suppressed a look of pity. It was very apparent to her that the relationship between Jess and Hoyt was rocky, borne of the differences between a human and a vampire. Jack had mentioned seeing Jessica at Fangtasia more than once, and that she'd begged him not to say anything to Hoyt about it.

"I'm only going because I'll be meeting some friends coming in from out of state," said Sasha. "I'm introducing Jack to them. I'm sure Bill advised Jessica not to have you come; sometimes it's better not to let other vampires know who your human significant other is. There are those that would use you against Jess, and with Bill moving up in the vampire world…"

"So you're saying this isn't about me? She won't be breaking up with me?" specified Hoyt.

"Um, no?" said Sasha. God, this really wasn't her business. But Hoyt appeared satisfied by her response, and he thanked her profusely. She checked her watch.

"Well, I need to get going, have a lot of pampering to start," said Sasha. "So I'm going to get out. I'll see you guys tomorrow afternoon for goodbyes,"

Yes, tomorrow she'd be saying goodbye to her new friends and, if she could muster up the courage, to her grandmother's ghost. She just had to get through tonight, and inevitably bumping into Eric Northman.

* * *

The Compton mansion had undergone extensive renovation, rivaled only by the Bellefleur residence. But for the coronation for the new Vampire King of Louisiana, the place and its sprawling grounds had been magnificently decorated in a tasteful but decadent display of opulence.

"This is crazy!" Jack whispered gleefully. Sasha grinned at him, reaching up to fix the bow tie at his throat, reminding him for the hundredth time to quit fiddling with it. She'd already taken enough pictures of him to max out the disposable camera she'd bought for the occasion; Jack had complained during every picture, teasing her that this wasn't the prom and she wasn't his mother.

"I mean, a king! In Louisiana!" he said in awe.

" _Of Louisiana_ ," she reminded him. "Goodness, Jack, your cummerbund," she sighed, reaching to fix that too. Jack simply held his arms up and out of the way, chattering excitedly.

"So does that mean Jess is a princess? She looks like a princess," he went on. "She's a princess right?"

Sasha laughed. "No, it does not make her a princess. Vampires don't follow lines of succession. I see you've been paying attention to my lectures," she reminded. She stepped away from him, looking him over.

"Tonight's going to be awesome," said Jack. "And since we're friends with Jess, that basically makes us VIP, right?"

"Probably," agreed Sasha, if only to indulge him. "I've always wanted to attend a vampire coronation. This is a dream come true,"

* * *

"This is a fucking nightmare,"

Eric glared at Pam in warning as he handed their invitations to the young vampire at the door. She checked their names off her list and then welcomed them through.

"Fine," said Pam, not sparing the woman a look. In Swedish, she said, " _This is a fucking nightmare, Eric_ ,"

Eric sighed in exasperation. He took her hand and brought it to his mouth. " _Do try to remember that Compton is looking for any excuse to kill us. I wouldn't have been so worried before, but if he has the resources of a king, it's starting to become cause for concern_ ,"

He felt her ire, but she fixed on a much more pleasant expression with her smile, bringing one to his face. Eric carefully brushed her curled hair behind a shoulder, then slid his arm around her thin waist. His lips brushed across her cheek. " _You are absolutely spectacular,_ "

She smiled, patting the black satin lapels of his jacket. Her gown was a deep wine red, a mixture of satin and chiffon that paired beautifully with his tux. " _I know. The ladies at Prada asked for pictures of me at the event so they could display them in store,_ "

Eric chuckled, letting go of her to grab two flutes of blood champagne when a passing waiter offered them up. He handed one to Pam, eyes grazing over the crowd in the ballroom they found themselves in. It hadn't been too heavily decorated, and the few decorations were simply there to accentuate the grandeur of the home already present.

Then there was the crowd. There were too many familiar faces. Monarchs were unable or unwilling to leave their own states and had sent representatives, as was tradition. Eric spotted a few local Sheriffs and trusted advisors in the mix.

As he looked, his gaze met that of a tall vampire. She had long red hair curled to perfection and bright green slanted eyes. Her lips were painted red to match her gown. She sauntered over, dipping her head respectfully.

"Sheriff Northman," she greeted. "And Miss de Beufort,"  
"Do we know you?" asked Pam. Her typical abrasiveness appeared her preferred accessory for the evening.

"I can't say I've had the pleasure. I'm Meredith Cane, progeny of Sheriff Catherine Meridian of Area Four," she said, smiling to Eric. Eric nodded in recognition, taking a sip of his blood.  
"Yes, Catherine," he nodded. Casually he asked, "Is your Maker present tonight?"

"Unfortunately she had business to attend to," said Meredith. "But she wished for me to convey her greetings, and that she hopes that the occasion will rise soon so you two may see each other again,"

"I'll bet," muttered Pam. She knew of Catherine Meridian's… _infatuation_ with him, though their initial meeting was before her time. Pam had met the other vampire on a single occasion, and that had been enough for her; Eric knew she despised Catherine with a particular passion. Eric was far more neutral in his emotions towards the vampire, though she was often too much to handle, coming off as too desperate for his fancy. He'd had her once, and that had been enough for him. The same could not be said for Catherine Meridian, and she'd been not so subtly lusting after him since.

"Please, return my greetings," said Eric. Though it was strange she was absent from her king's coronation, Eric was grateful. "Tell the Sheriff I'm sure opportunity will arise in the future,"

"Of course, Sheriff Northman," She purred. "The pleasure was all mine,"

Meredith smiled, dipping her head. Then she sauntered away, melting into the crowd.

" _Figures her progeny is just as despicable,_ " muttered Pam. " _But she liked you. You could probably fuck her, and then Catherine wouldn't want to touch you again. I hear that on top of being a heinous bitch, she's also very jealous._ "

Eric chuckled. " _I think I'd be signing her death warrant if I slept with her. Catherine has a reputation for being rather sadistic,_ "

"True," laughed Pam. "Let's do a round and see if there's anyone that's actually tolerable to—oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,"

Eric followed her gaze, wondering what had soured her further. When he found Pam's source of disdain, for one wild moment Eric thought his heart had beat again, just once, in his chest. He reached up absently to feel the spot, logic telling him that it was a mere reflex, his body connecting it to whatever emotion he was currently experiencing…

Sasha Buckley was standing just inside the foyer, dressed to kill. Her gown was a simple yet stunning piece, ivory silk that was draped over her like water. Her neck and shoulders were bare, exposing the sharpness of her collarbones. Mock sleeves looped around her forearms, drooping, and the sweetheart neckline of the dress was tastefully appropriate, just barely hinting at her breasts. The dress was fitted at the bodice, cinching in her waist, hugging down her curves until it pooled at her feet in an excess of fabric.

But it was everything. She wore no jewelry around her neck, and the exposed toffee of her collarbones and the slope of her neck were already drawing attention. Her hair had been blown out into elegant waves and then pinned just above her shoulders. Her make up was simple, lips painted matte red. She looked like one of the Old Hollywood starlets he'd dined on once upon a time.

Vampires were turning to her like she had a homing beacon flashing above her, causing a stir of jealously in their human companions, interest in others. If Sasha noticed the attention she was good at hiding it, turning to smile at the young vampire next to her. Eric only now noticed Jack. He had cleaned up nicely for the occasion, looking smart in a designer tuxedo and his long hair carefully gelled and combed. No doubt, Sasha's fine handiwork.

"Oh great, you too," muttered Pam. Eric barely heard her; his ears were thrumming with the primal urge to cut down every vampire that stood between them and claim her for himself.

 _Fuck_. He'd told himself over the past two weeks that she could not have such an effect on him. As far as he could tell, no other vampire was as acutely affected by her blood or presence as he was, and he refused to make a fool of himself. If she was a succubus after all, he'd resist her song at all costs—he was a thousand year old vampire after all, and he would not be bested—but he would be cautious. He would lull her into a false sense of security, and then he would strike. But he was absolutely not taste her blood, knowing that might be too great a risk.

"Still doubt my theory?" bit back Eric.

Sasha hadn't spotted them; she was whispering to Jack, pointing things out in the room as they made their way further into the foyer. When Eric listened in, he heard that she was excitedly pointing out the historical significance of the building's architecture. Jack was feigning interest.

A vampire approached Sasha and Jack from behind. He was a male dressed smartly enough in slacks and a dress shirt and bow tie, but his tuxedo coat had been replaced by a leather jacket.

"Say love," said the vampire, his Irish accent thick as he came to stop just behind them. He looked her over quite deliberately. "Anyone ever tell you that you look like vampire bait?"

Next to her, Jack stiffened, eyes narrowing. Sasha placed a delicate hand on his forearm.

"Anyone ever tell you that having an accent doesn't automatically make you charming?" Sasha shot back as she turned to face the vampire. Her cool tone contradicted the playfulness in her eyes.

"Glad to see that mouth of yours is still intact, little dove," said Irish. "Especially since your good sense isn't. You are in so much trouble,"

"Jack, this is Eoin McGinty," said Sasha. "Eoin, this is Jack Connors,"

Recognition flashed in Jack's eyes, and he loosened considerably, shaking the Irishman's hand excitedly.

"Pleasure to meet you! I've heard a lot about you!" he said enthusiastically. Eoin glanced at Sasha before shaking his hand.

"So you're the newborn," he said appraising him. "Nice to meet you, lad,"

"The others?" asked Sasha.

"Right here, dearest,"

Eric watched as two more vampires joined the trio. The one that had spoken was a statuesque female, thin and with long, fine pale gold hair. Her eyes were a cold crystalline, sparking with dangerous mischief as she reached them. They matched her tailored powder blue tuxedo to a T. She strode up to Sasha and kissed her right on the lips. The kiss lasted a little too long to be friendly, and when the blonde pulled away, Sasha was left looking stiff.

"Darling, you look absolutely delicious," the vampire was saying. "I'd taste you right here and now if he wouldn't rip my fangs out," she said, eyeing Eoin. Her eyes flashed to Jack.

"And who's this?"

Sasha made quick introductions, stating, "Jack, this is Mimi. Mimi, Jack. He's off limits,"

"Sasha's _adopted_ Jack," said Eoin, not tearing his eyes away from Sasha. "She's his stand in maker, as it were,"

Mimi laughed, the high-pitched, bell-like sound drawing eyes. "Now that is just the silliest, most charming thing I've ever heard. Sasha dearest, you do realize you're a breather, right?"

"Can we not do this here, please?" asked Sasha. It was the most muted that Eric had ever observed her to be; even when around him, when she was displeased or annoyed, she had an inner sort of fire that prevented her from being ignored. Now she appeared…subdued. Not at all the succubus minx he'd been making her out to be over the last few weeks.

What the fuck? Eric was about to voice his conflicting ideas to Pam, but then another vampire entered the mix.

He was tall, slender, and handsome in the sort of way one expected an English prince to be, and for some reason that he couldn't quite fathom, immediately rubbed Eric the wrong way.

"It's only been a few weeks, but it feels like much longer," he said pleasantly upon arrival to their little group. And there it was, the posh British accent that made Eric roll his eyes. "Sasha, you look beautiful as ever," the vampire continued pompously, leaning in and kissing both her cheeks. "You are positively glowing,"

"Thank you, James,"

 _James._ His name was fucking _James_.

"You're looking very handsome—Ferragamo?" Sasha asked politely of his pressed tuxedo.

"Yes, good eye as usual," chuckled James. "You know my love affair with Italian suits,"

"You're fucking kidding me," muttered Eric. This James character had to _go_.

"You're telling me," spat Pam. The haughtiness of her tone caused Eric to look over at her, surprised by the force of her bitterness. "Because you know that contact of mine in California? The one I contacted about information on the girl after you asked me to, the same one that said she didn't know anything? That's her right there,"

Eric looked back to Mimi. Once again she was laughing.

"Oh, just fuck already you two," laughed Mimi. "You've have been dancing around each other for _years_. I suppose I understand you waiting when she was fifteen, Jimmy dear, but look at her now. She's a fine little thing, isn't she?"

"Madeline, that isn't exactly appropriate to say—" began James, appearing affronted by her words.

"So," Sasha said loudly, pointedly ignoring the blonde. She glanced at Eoin. "Just you three?"

"I'm here on an official capacity on behalf of our king," said Mimi. The words sounded reluctant. "These two are here to babysit me, go figure. King Jakande, in all his fine wisdom, didn't think I should be left to the others to be managed. Apparently I have a reputation for being inapproiate, demanding, and capricious. Imagine that?"

"Others?" asked Sasha.

"Two Sheriffs from the north," supplied James. "I don't know if you remember them. Henry Mason and Aiyana Blackwater?"

"Yes, the ones that are completely boring,"

"Mason's retiring," said James, shooting Mimi a look. "So he's acting out his final duties,"

"Mason's retiring? When?" Sasha asked interestedly. By now, Eric was not at all surprised that she was aware of the ins-and-outs of California's vampire politics. "He'll be hard to replace, what with the relationship he's built with the pack up there,"

Mimi smirked at Eoin. Sasha gasped.

" _You're_ taking over for him? You're tapped for Sheriff?"

"No," said Eoin, jaw tight. "But it seems the King has _graciously_ offered me the job. We all know it's really a punishment,"

"No, it isn't," said Mimi, rolling her eyes. "There's a lot of potential to Area 8,"

"It's fucking _Area 8_ ," groaned Eoin.

"This is so confusing," said Jack. "But so cool,"

Tossing her hair over a shoulder and fixing a fierce scowl on her features, Pam announced, "I'm done listening in. I'm going over there,"

Naturally, Eric followed.

"Madeline. Hi." Pam said shortly, her eyes frosty as she came up to the blonde.

"Pamela," said Mimi, her smirk falling for the first time all evening. Then her eyes turned to Eric, and they slanted with interest, though Eric thought that it was something of a façade to hide being so caught unawares. "And _the_ Eric Northman. What a _pleasure_ ," she all but purred. "You know I've always wanted to meet the Viking, Pamela,"

"Are you going to introduce us to your friends, Sasha?" asked Eric. Eyes darted between them, and Sasha ignored the pointed look Eoin shot her way. Sasha seemed to have a hard time meeting Eric's eyes for once, too.

She made quick introductions.

"Oh, we've met," said Pam, her eyes narrowed in Mimi's direction. "Funny, I didn't realize _you two_ had as well,"

"And how do you three know each other?" James asked politely in an attempt to diffuse the apparent tension of the situation.

"It's a bit of a long, intimate story," said Eric. His eyes fell to her. "Right, Sasha?"

"Well, we all happen to have the time," said Eoin.

"Eric gave me a ride into town after my car broke down—"

"You mean _my_ car that you _stole_ , which is impossible because that car has never had a problem with it since it came into my possession—"

"— _and_ then I didn't realize he was Sheriff until I went to his club to discuss Jack's situation," said Sasha, ignoring Eoin's rambling.

"My maker turned me, Released me, and then dipped," Jack supplied helpfully. "In case not everyone was up to speed about me,"

"That is absolutely awful," said James, horrified. Jack shrugged.

"Well you certainly stay busy," remarked Mimi. "Bit surprised to still see you have a pulse, really,"

"So people keep telling me," muttered Sasha. Again, she was somewhat…subdued. Eric had wondered often what she'd be like around the vampires she insisted on calling her nest; this wasn't what he expected of a vampire-mind-influencing succubus. This was a girl surrounded by family, thought Eric. Content, but exposed to the complicate nature of family ties.

"And you all know our girl here how?" asked Eric. Again Eoin shot a look at Sasha—Eric was somewhat satisfied to see that the Irishman was unnerved by his relationship with Sasha.

"We're nest mates," said Eoin. "I'm sure she's mentioned,"

"Not much," said Eric.

"Yeah well, it's a bit of a long, intimate story," Eoin said flatly. "You know how that goes,"

" _Stad,_ " said Sasha to Eoin. Eric filed away that to some degree, Sasha Buckley spoke yet another language, in this case the Irishman's.

"Eric, can I speak to you for a moment?" asked Sasha.

"Go for it," said Pam dryly. "I think we just now established we're all friends here,"

"I am this close to a conniption," muttered Sasha.

"Wow, what's going on here?"

Jessica Hamby had now joined the mix. Jack stumbled over himself to greet her, and as he introduced the redhead to the others, Eric took his chance to take Sasha by the elbow and steer her away.

Before Sasha could fully catch her breath, Eric had her outside on one of the balconies, away from the event. He slipped his hand into the pockets of his slacks, cocking his head down at the little vixen.

"Sasha Buckley," he purred. "Alone at last,"

* * *

 **Hey everyone! Welcome to all the new followers and readers, and reviewers, because we got a lot last time! Pam butted her way in unexpectedly in this chapter, so it all ended up being a lot longer than expected. Therefore I'm adding an extra chapter to my outline, which is technically this chapter. Originally this chapter and the next chapter were all one chapter, but given the nature of what's about to happen, I thought it best to split up the two! Because of that, chapter 12 should be out tomorrow, Oct. 14th.**

 ** _Liza_ : I'm glad you enjoyed Eric's perspective! I have a lot of fun going in depth with it. I will say that Eric's frustration with his feelings towards Sasha aren't necessarily tied into Sookie; it's more the fact that she's human and that she tests his control and authority, not necessarily as Sheriff, but just as him always being the one in control of a situation or even just conversation. I think that, being a one thousand year old vampire, he's used to being the most powerful/in control being always. And so in the show, when Godric went missing, when he was up against Russel, etc. that was where he started to panic a bit and get uncomfortable. But yes, this definitely makes him weary of Sasha!**

 _ **Mika:** **That is so sweet! There's nothing more flattering than to hear that! Stay tuned!**_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Long Live King Compton**

" _Sasha Buckley. Alone at last,"_

It would be unfair to note that Eric Northman looked anything less than sinful in that moment. Okay, yes, he was generally pretty sinful in general, but that fucking _tux_. It fit his body like it may have been made for him and, Sasha thought, there was a good chance it was. The designer garment him like a glove. He was dressed totally in black, the monochromatic choice somewhat unusual; black tux, black dress shirt, black bow tie. The longer she stared, the more complex, the more interesting his tux: the dress shirt was textured, vertical lines running through the material. His bow tie was also textured, though it appeared like black on black dots. The lapels of his jacket were a different material than the rest of the coat, black satin. As were the buttons of his jacket, and the racing stripe down the long, _long_ outer seem of his pants.

His _fucking legs._ Sasha had never before given much thought to a man's legs before, but Eric had such long, beautiful legs. She remembered once, Mimi had gone through a phase were she insisted on dining on soccer players simply because she liked their legs. There had been a lot of things wrong with that of course; but at sixteen years old, Sasha had mostly questioned just what was so hot about legs.

Now she understood.

Feeling smaller than usual standing near him, she flashed him a hesitant smile. "Hi,"

Her guard was up, uncertain of which Eric Northman she was dealing with tonight. Was it the patient, playful, indulgent vampire? Or was it the Viking Sheriff, the lion lying in wait, awaiting her next misstep so that he could pounce.

Really, they were both dangerous.

" _Hi_ ," mocked Eric. His voice was soft, misleadingly so, because his eyes had that calculating look about them. .

"Fancy meeting you here," he continued. "At a vampire king's coronation. Imagine that. I thought you'd be long gone by now. You seemed so desperate to leave Louisiana; yet here you are,"

He wasn't accusing her of anything, at least not yet, but Sasha felt defensive at some underlying implication. She didn't like how he was looking at her, a little smug like he had her all figured out.

"Jessica invited Jack and I," she told him. "And for most of us, attending a coronation is pretty once in a lifetime; a _vampire_ coronation is even more elusive. Even my hatred fir Louisiana can be curbed for such an opportunity,"

"Mm. _Opportunity,_ " said Eric. He skirted around her to go lean his forearms over the balcony's edge. She joined him. Together they watched the grounds below. A security team—human, by their movements—patrolled the edges of the manicured emerald lawns.

It was a gorgeous night, and it was late enough in the evening that some of the day's humidity had lifted, leaving fresh, breathable air. The night was tranquil, quiet far off from the sounds of the mingling coronation guests, but she did not feel so calm herself.

After a few minutes Sasha found the silence between them stifling enough she was compelled to break it. "Whatever I said the other night… my intention wasn't to upset you. I'm sorry,"

She felt his eyes slide to her. Eric's gaze on her always felt like snowflakes falling onto her skin like soft kisses, little particles of ice capable of ignited fires in her flesh. It was unnerving. So her eyes remained out on the scenery, distractedly tracing the far off corners of the back lawn of the estate. Far off in the darkness, if she squinted enough, she could see the glint of metal catching in the moonlight. Gates?

A cemetery. The very cemetery Jack had been reborn in.

"You really have no idea, do you?" asked Eric. Now she did chance a glance in his direction, because his tone bordered on surprise, like some great realization was just now dawning on him.

"Not really, no," she said slowly. She was a little conflicted now; she'd bent her pride by apologizing, but she hadn't had her backbone surgically removed. "I might be out of line in saying this, but the way you acted was a little unfair,"

"Oh?"

Sasha couldn't quite tell if his smile was dangerous or amused; she banked on the fact that he wouldn't harm her here, not with members of her nest present. What idiot vampire would dare harm a human here and now?

"Yes, because _you_ started that little game, and _you_ then agreed to my conditions. Admit you gambled unwisely, because you didn't expect me to be able to get into your head like I did,"

"Interesting choice of words," murmured Eric. At her demanding look, he rolled his eyes. "Yes, fine, I didn't expect you to be so…clued in. But no, that was not what I took offense to,"

Sasha arched an eyebrow at him. The motion was challenge enough.

"At least not entirely," he remedied. "Satisfied?"

"Depends," said Sasha. Am I forgiven?"

She thought he might be fighting a smile, a real one, but he turned to stare back down at the grounds below, and she couldn't confirm her suspicion.

"Hullo!"

They both turned to the balcony's entrance. A tall, thin man was standing in the doorway in a nice suit. He had fine ginger hair pulled back in a ponytail and gold-wired glasses. He smiled brightly, lifting up an expensive looking Canon in their direction. "Absolutely beautiful wedding, isn't it?"  
"Sorry?" asked Sasha.

"Glamored," muttered Eric her way. "Photographer,"

"Ah," she understood.

"Can I take your picture?" he asked.

"Oh, um…"

"Certainly," Eric said coolly, his hands slid over her waist, moving her just a little closer. The flash went off before either of them were ready, and Sasha blinked in displeasure as she shuffled close to Eric without falling over.

"Beautiful! Congratulations you two!" the photographer exclaimed. Eric snorted in laughter, and Sasha glanced up at him, pleasantly startled by the genuine sound of it.

"Yeah, we're not the—"

"I'll be around!"

He popped back out just as quickly as he'd come in. "I can't believe he thought _we_ were married,"

"I'm in all black, you're in all white," Eric shrugged. Then he grinned devilishly. "We're also hot as fuck side by sided"

She scoffed, reaching up to check that her hair was still in place. She wondered how those photos had come out and her chances of getting her hands on a copy. Just for curiosity's sake. And as a souvenir, since she'd yet to find an "I Survived Bon Temps And Met A Viking" T-shirt. Maybe she could check out the Fangtasia gift shop for one.

"You'll be leaving soon, I suppose?" he ventured. The arrival of the photographer had at least broken the tension between them.

"Yes," said Sasha. "The timing worked out well enough. Since Mini was coming here at the behest of the King of California and Eoin was sent to…supervise…we agreed it would be perfect if he met Jack here and they traveled back to LA together,"

"And the story is wrapped up all neat and tidy," said Eric.

"I wouldn't go that far," said Sasha. "Jack's recovery won't begin until he admits that he has a problem,"

"True," agreed Eric. Then, "So, you and the blonde. _Mimi_. That was some kiss, Miss Buckley. I was almost jealous,"

"What are you actually asking me?" she asked in exasperation. She didn't want to talk about Mimi. Mimi was...well, _Mimi._

"There's a story there I'm sure. I'm curious,"

Sasha hesitated, dragging her finger over the cold stony of the balcony ledge. It came up covered in fine powder. She rubbed it away absently. "I told you last time I saw you. I went through a bit of a party phase. And every party girl needs a partner in crime,"

She meant that literally and figuratively, but of course she wasn't about to dive into details about that wild summer. Partly because there wasn't much she remembered of her time spent hopping from bar to club to hotel to bar, and partly because what she could remember she wasn't exactly proud of.

"I imagine she couldn't have been a good influence on a young and impressionable mind," muttered Eric. Then he appeared somewhat quizzical. "Apparently she was a former lover of Pam's. Were you two…?"

"Everything doesn't always revolve around blood and sex,"

"It does for vampires. Blood, sex, and power. And I can't help but be curious," shrugged Eric. "If you were solely interested in women, that would explain a few things,"

"You are too much," said Sasha. "We should go back inside,"

"Wait," said Eric, catching her arm. She was prepared for his touch, mostly because she had her new ring. It glistened in the moonlight; she hoped he wouldn't ask about it. "What do you know about succubae?"

"Succubae?" Sasha repeated, thrown. "Like, the plural of the mythical succubus? I say mythical, but if you're bringing them up I'm guessing they're not,"

Eric stared at her long and hard, like he was trying to get into her head by boring through her eyes.

"Um, well, I know that by most mythological accounts, they're creatures, demons, that seduce men and women through their dreams. Well, a succubus is female, and the male form is an incubus,"

"Dammit,"

Eric released her, spinning away from her and pacing farther up the balcony. Her brow furrowed at his back, trying to figure out why he was so curious about such a creature, now of all times. She could only guess that he suspected that there was one in his Area now; yet another creature drawn to Bon Temps? It was beginning to sound routine around here.

"Um, are you looking for more information on them or something?" she asked tentatively. "I don't know much, just stuff I've come across in art history and from a World Religions course I took my Sophomore year. Uh, lets see, well, they're a form of demon, aren't they? So they'd have some sort of physical tell, like an extra toe or a forked tongue or—"

"Or two different colored eyes?"

"I suppose, thought that would be a good one, since that's a common enough human trait—" Sasha stopped short. Then her eyes narrowed and her cheeks flushed angrily, fists curling at her sides.

"Wait—you think _I'm_ a succubus?" she demanded. When he merely shot her an exasperated look, she folded her arms across her chest haughtily. " _Wow_. Amazing. You're the one that's been making all of the sexual advances between us, and I don't sleep with you, and yet I get branded as a mythological, soul-eating whore? _Typical._ You know, Eric Northman, I didn't take you to be such an old world, backwards-thinking misogynistic—"

"Calm down," sighed Eric. If she didn't know any better, she might have accused him of being a little embarrassed. "I see now that I am mistaken. I might not be able to get into that pretty little head of yours like I'd like, but I can tell when you're lying at least,"

"Well, for the record, I'm a human and, last I checked, have a soul," she snapped at him. "And I don't know what you're playing at, but I'm so over it,"

Again she turned to leave, but Eric flashed in front of her. Before she could protest he was leaning down, pressing his face into her neck just as he had that night at Fangtasia. But here they were alone on a balcony, away from the din of noise and prying eyes, and with him looming over her nearly larger than life itself, his hands placed tightly on the bare skin of her shoulders, it all seemed too intimate. Too dangerous.

"Eric, get off. Please," she said, incredibly uncomfortable with the taciturn vampire's mouth so close to her neck. Eric pulled away sharply, looking puzzled. But his eyes, there was something manic there, and it frightened her.

"You're driving me fucking crazy," he murmured, running a hand through his hair. The shiny blond locks stood at odd, crinkled angles due to his hair gel.

"Ditto," she told him, fixing her dress from where it was slipping from around her bust. "Look, I don't know what you're getting at, but…"

"You smell the same," said Eric. "You smell the same but you're not… there's no affect…" He looked away, mouth pressed into a tight line. There was something crazed about his eyes, and it was a rare moment where she felt unsafe around him.

"Eric, let me go," her voice was as steady as she could manage it, but there was a thread of doubt there. Recognizing this, he realized her.

"I'm not going to harm you," he said, blinking down at her. His hands slipped back into the pockets of his slacks as he resumed a casual air.

"You say that," said Sasha indignantly. "But you've proven to be pretty mercurial at the drop of a hat. If you want to know what I am so bad, why don't you just glamor it out of me?

It was, in retrospect, either a very high-stakes gamble or just a completely stupid fucking suggestion on her part. Sasha couldn't be glamored, but Eric didn't know that. As long as she could act glamored—and she knew she could, Eoin had forced her to practice for _hours_ over the years—she could rest his mind at ease. But that was only if Eric asked her something along the lines of 'What are you'; if he started asking questions she didn't want to answer, she would either have to lie exceedingly convincingly but also thoughtlessly.

"Go ahead! Since you don't believe me, ask me. Glamor-ask me what I am,"

Eric suddenly looked doubtful, like he wanted to find out the truth but this wasn't how he'd envisioned doing it. But if this had been a game for him, he was either desperate for the truth now that she was leaving, or frustrated that it had gone on for so long fruitlessly. If she had a damn thing to say about it, it ended tonight.

Eric ran a hand over his mouth. Then he stepped closer, facing her. A sudden prickle of unease ran through her; the ring worked as a talisman on her magic, not necessarily outside forces. It was her magic that kept her from being glamored, but the last ring she'd worn had been just weak enough that her magic had been just strong enough to still protect her from glamor. Would this ring be the same? Or was this ring more powerful? Did she just set herself up for a witch-hunt?

She swallowed nervously. But Eric seemed nervous too, for some reason. Eric's hands were cool to the touch as they came to rest on either side of her neck. His eyes were uncertain as they met hers, like he was already regretting his decision. She stared back at him.

Eric's thumbs caressed the column of her throat; they both he both heard and felt the rapid beat of her heart. Ever so slowly, his palms glided down her neck, across her shoulders, and down to grasp the tops of her arms.

" _Sasha_ ,"

When Eric said her name, it always threatened to send shivers down her spine. He had the soft, deliberate sort of voice, just dipped in that Swedish accent of his that made her knees weak. Like the rest of him, it was sexy, dangerous. It was like that now, but this time there was something different. His voice was like a lullaby, and his eyes the brightest blue they'd ever been, their gaze hooking into her own so powerfully she felt an invisible tug. That was the glamor; and it helped her façade being so physically aware of it.

Sasha forced all the tension she felt out of her body. She even managed to lower her heart rate to something far more serene. Her eyes went wide, dopey, expression slack.

" _Sasha Buckley, what are you?_ "

Those unfamiliar with how glamoring worked assumed it was absolute and total mind control, a weapon of all vampires. In truth, it was a skill, like the uncommon flight or the incredibly rare foresight, but very common in vampires to varying degrees of success. Glamoring wasn't just looking at someone and saying words; it was a telepathic ability that required a vampire break into someone's mind, and some people took more work than others.

Sasha liked to think she'd take more work than the average person.

She blinked thickly. Dopily, she said, "You always ask, Eric,"

" _I do. And you always tell me you're human. Are you human, Sasha?_ "

"Yes. I'm human," her smile went giddy. "I'm always worried when I tell you, you'll be disappointed,"

There was a moment of silence in which Eric held her in his glamor. Her heart threatened to hammer in her chest again out of sheer nervousness. Then—

Eric blinked, releasing her from his glamor. She blinked a few times, shaking her head like she was still trying to shake his control clear of her. He was frowning and, she thought, he _did_ look a little disappointed.

"Better this way," he muttered to himself.

"Got what you were looking for?" she asked him, adding an edge of vexation to her tone for good measure.

"I suppose," said Eric. "So you're worried about disappointing me?"

She was already regretting saying it. "You just seemed so invested in my being something extraordinary," Sasha shrugged. "You'll just had to come to terms with the fact that you just like me,"

Eric chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"Okay then, I guess this is it. Goodbye and all," said Sasha.

"I guess it is," said Eric. "Or,"

"Or?"

"Can I have you over for dinner?"

The question threw her off once again. She couldn't make rhyme or reason of the shifts in his mood, and she suspected that somewhere in the mess of personalities he was displaying, he was hiding his motivation. Or maybe this little glamor-test had really shifted all suspicions off her, and he no longer considered her some sort of supernatural threat.

"Very funny,"

"What's the harm in spending the night with me? We've just established there isn't any for either of us," said Eric. He sauntered over to her, his lean body curving some as he leaned closer to her. He reached up a finger, dragging it just under the pillow of her bottom lip and up to the corner; she thought her lipstick might have been smudged some from Mimi's kiss. She thought about those pictures again. "It appears I was mistaken about your…unnatural allure, but there are other things about you that entice me, beyond your blood and mystery,"

His finger, cool and yet so hot to the touch, trailed further down, to the side of her neck, across her collarbones, leaving a wake of fire in their trail. It dawned on her then that she never liked people touching her much, but Eric had been in her personal space since about day one and she'd never really fought him on it. "I'd very much like to have you, and I think the feeling is mutual,"

What he suggested sent the magic in her veins sizzling like water on a hot skillet, dangerously close to exploding out of her, so much so that she wasn't sure she'd survive a night of what he was suggesting, magical ring talisman be damned.

"Little bird,"

Sasha blinked, relief flooding her as Eoin joined him them on the balcony. His usual cocky gait was more pronounced than usual, made stiff by the tension in his shoulders. "Not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Actually—"

"No," said Sasha, cutting off Eric. He glanced down at her in mild surprise. Perhaps he'd thought his little seduction had been successful, not counting that his sudden mood swings had unsettled her too much for her to take his proposition seriously.

"No?" Eric repeated, piercing eyes on her. "Well, you know where to find me, when you change your mind."

Eric didn't stick around long enough to hear her scoff. She leaned her hands back against the balcony. The combination of Eric's appeal and her own magic swelling inside of her and no chance at release—in every sense of the word—was making her a little lightheaded.

Fucking Eric Northman.

The newly ascended king had yet to make an appearance, and the attending vampires filled the start of their evening in a variety of ways. Some vampire representatives cheerfully greeted old friends and allies, chatting innocently on the state of vampire politics—at least on the surface, everyone agreed that the AVL was doing 'wonderful, absolutely wonderful, terrific things', and others commiserated on the state of human affairs. Tru Blood and fine wines and champagnes abounded, and well-trained waiters threaded through the crowd, offering beautiful hors d'oeuvres for human companions of the mingling vampires. No one paid much attention to the human companions; they were mostly silent, well-dressed arm candy and after-hours dessert.

Like some of the vampire's present, Pam was busy reacquainting herself with an old friend.

"Fuck, just like that, gods, _yes_ ,"

Madeline Hansen's voice was high with pleasure, eyes squeezed shut as she gasped and moaned. It might have been some four or five decades since they'd last seen each other, but Pam remembered how to pleasure her very well.

Sex had always been her area; as human and as vampire, but it wasn't until she'd been made vampire that Pam could ever remember truly taking pleasure in. Well, no; she'd fucked Eric for around a week straight before she'd _oh so politely asked to be turned_ , and she remembered enjoying that very much. He'd even managed to each _her_ a few things, something she hadn't thought possible. She might not have taken pleasure in being a madam, but she'd certainly been _very_ good at her job.

Being a madam was a lot like being a vampire. It was dangerous work, power was everything, and secrets were worth more than money. She'd made just as much money in those days selling secrets as she had fucking loser bastards rich and poor. When it came to getting information, she was a fucking pro, and that hadn't been an area Eric had wasted much time furthering her education in. She was persuasive enough in her own right. When she'd learned to glamor humans she could do so, and when it came to vampires, she had no qualms in fucking them into submission.

That was why practically her whole hand was currently up Mimi's cunt. Well, that and a bit of nostalgia. She really had enjoyed Mimi after all.

They'd stolen away from the little gathering of vampires around the time Jessica Hamby had shown up and Eric had made off with Sasha. She'd grabbed Mimi, and though the vampire was older and was somewhat hesitant, she'd let herself be spirited away to a bedroom upstairs and far away from the mess downstairs.

I mean, if someone really, _really_ listened, they'd certainly hear some filthy sounds. Pam smirked at the thought, renewed her efforts, moving her hand just _so—_

Mimi convulsed against the wall she had her against.

"And that's _two,_ "Pam said smugly, placing a lingering kiss against Mimi's throat. The dark berry of her lipstick was absolutely glorious against her pale skin.

"You were always so good at that—one of the rare few that kept it from getting boring, somehow," Mimi said. Her voice was sugary with the satiation of post-orgasm bliss. "I remember that night in Prague, you kept me on the brink for hours, in absolute bloody torture, before you let me have it. It was agony of the sweetest kind,"

Pam smirked. In part because there was no exaggeration to the story, and in part because she had her right where she wanted her. Mimi was absolutely deadly in a fight, but the second you had a finger or three up her and could play her strings to her satisfaction, you owned her.

"Now, I know it's been a while," said Pam. She laid her accent on extra thick, knowing it had always charmed Mimi. "But I'm a little hurt, sweetheart. You don't call, you don't write, and then when I reach out to you, you're lying to me over a _breather_ of all things,"

Mimi stiffened just a little. Pam leaned into her neck again, nipping hard enough with her blunt teeth to elicit a moan from Mimi. Her hands slipped against between her legs, teasing her achingly slowly. Distracting her.

"It's nothing personal, dearest," sighed Mimi. "Shit, higher— _please_ —A-all in the cause of self-interest,"

"Because you want to keep her all to yourself?" asked Pam. Her fingers hadn't ceased their tantalizingly slow movements, but they hadn't obeyed her direction, either. Pam was certain Mimi was probably more concerned with trying to get fingers to her clit than watching the words spilling out of her mouth.

"It's not like that," gasped Mimi. "Not. Oh _fuck_. Touch me higher, Pamela, _please_ —she's, she's not mine,"

Pamela struck like a cobra. Her mouth attacked Mimi's in a hungry kiss. Mimi was all but melted against the wall as Pamela's tongue brought back memories of their nights of pleasure to the present, creating so much dizzying heat between them even Pam was forgetting her objective. But then she remembered it, that she was doing a favor for Eric, because even if she didn't agree, if she could help settle his mind on this whole Sasha-business then they'd all be a little saner for it.

She was _so_ not a succubus. Pam wouldn't say it, but she only indulged Eric's little theory because it was easier to. It would have been messier to call him out on his shit. He was bored, and he was seriously reaching with this one. Oh well. Maybe the girl was something, but if she was dangerous, it was only because Eric was giving her power over him by obsessing over her.

Pam pulled away from the kiss: Mimi chased after her lips. "Greedy," teased Pam. "Is she the Irishman's?"

"What?"

"The girl," said Pam. She quickened her fingers, brought them to where Mimi had begged them to be ( _"Fuck! Fucking Hel!")._ "Does she belong to the Irishman? The Englishman prick's?"

"Eoin? James?" Mimi laughed, delirious from pleasure and overwhelming arousal. "As if. But the king would have anyone's head who even touched her—"

Mimi's eyes flashed open, and her words came to a halt at the same time that Pam's finger's froze. Pleasure faded from Mimi's eyes; Pam was rigid with alarm.

"The king? The fucking King of California claimed her?"

"Fuck me," cursed Mimi. She dropped down to pick up the pants of her powder blue slacks up from around her ankles. As she fastened them back up high on her trim waist, she complained, "That was cruel of you, Pamela, to use my sex haze against me! You know how I am after a good fuck—It's best not to mess with that girl, and I'm telling you from experience. Why do you think I'm the king's lap dog all of a sudden? I fucked up with her and now this is my punishment. Shit. Just forget I said anything, all right?"

But Pam couldn't just forget. She didn't know much about the Californian monarch; she knew that King Jakande wasn't the ancient being that Russell Edgington had been, but he was the fucking king of the third largest United States territory, and one of the most powerful. The Tru Blood factories in California produced some twenty-six percent of the product _worldwide._

How many more kings could Eric go up against and survive?

She had to warn Eric.

" _Really, dove? A fucking Sheriff—that fucking Sheriff? He's walked the earth for a thousand years!_ "

Sasha sighed in annoyance. Irish Gaelic wasn't her strong suit, but Eoin had made her learn from when she was little, because it was a language seldom learned even amongst vampires, and therefore safe to speak even in their presence. In any case, she'd always preferred listening to Eoin speak it than speak it herself, but in just that moment, she found the opposite true. She really wasn't in the mood for a lecture.

" _It wasn't—_ "

" _If you tell me it wasn't what it looked like, I might eat my own hand,_ "

Sasha groaned. Her relationship with Eoin had grown just as she had, but in most ways it hadn't changed all that much. Even as a human, he'd never been one to care much for children, and as a four-hundred-and-something year old vampire, he harbored even less fondness for them. When Sasha had come along, he hadn't thought twice about helping her out of harm's way. But it hadn't exactly been his idea to adopt her into their nest, rather Malachi's; for a while he'd openly resented her presence.

Not that he'd been the only one.

That had changed with time. He was still impatient and crass as ever, but he'd learned to call her family, and so he was fiercely protective of her. She didn't think that Eoin knew that she'd put on her historian's thinking cap on and dug up his past and learned he'd had a little sister when he was human. He never mentioned her, and she never asked, but she assumed that had been why although it had been difficult for him at first, he'd eventually warmed up to her.

But, as much as she loved Eoin, she was almost constantly arguing with him over something, because while there were many things they could agree on, how she lived her life was rarely one of those things. Malachi, whether or not he agreed, had always supported her and respected her wishes; when she'd rejected her magic instead of embracing it, when she'd wanted to learn about vampire politics and customs, when she'd wanted to live off the compound and dorm at the university. Eoin had fought her always; if Eric Northman wanted anyone to blame for her argumentative nature even against vampires, it would be the Irishman.

"Did he not –?"

"Cad?" asked Sasha, unfamiliar with the word he'd just used. Eoin clucked his tongue impatiently.

He switched to English. His accent was so thick when he was angry that she doubted most could make out his quickly spoken words anyway. She only could out of habit. "Proposition. Did he not proposition you just now?"

"Oh, that," Sasha said flatly. She felt her cheeks heat up a bit at the mention of Eric's offer. "Yes, but I mean, he's kind of like that,"

"There was sexual tension,"

Sasha rolled her eyes. "Eric Northman has sexual tension with the very ground he walks on,"

"He is an attractive bastard," agreed Eoin in annoyance, causing Sasha to crack a smile. She moved closer to him. Eoin had died sometime in his mid thirties some four hundred years ago. He often teased that his pale Irish skin hadn't changed any once death settled in. Sometimes it appeared near translucent, particularly when contrasted to his soft waves of dark brown hair and thick eyebrows. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way, with a thick shadow of a beard down his chin and jaw. But his green eyes were heavier than usual, as where the lines beneath his eyes.

She'd seen him just under a month ago; she felt like much longer had passed.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly. "Does this have anything to do with what you said earlier? That you thought the King was punishing you?"

"So we're done talking about you, is that it then?" asked Eoin.

"Yes," said Sasha. "So spill. Why do you think he's punishing you?"

"Well, isn't it obvious?" asked Eoin, throwing her a sharp look. "For the same reason you left. I failed our nest. I had one job—and I mucked it all up, and now that bastard is out on the loose somewhere,"

"This is about him?" she asked quietly. She refused to say the name they were both thinking out loud, because if she said his name she would think about his face, the face that had haunted her nightmares so fiercely she'd upped and left everyone she loved in search of peace.

"You get that good night's rest you were after?" he asked.

"No, not really," said Sasha. "More than you'd think has happened since I left. Have you…have you been looking for him? Still?"

It had been a year. She didn't think that he'd be found now, not unless he wanted to be found. And with the price on his head, he definitely didn't want to be found. She'd though the King had sent others after him.

"Aye. Last I racked him was Asia. At least until last week," said Eoin. Eoin licked his lips, hesitating as he shot her a sideways glance. "He was spotted stateside,"

Sasha's hands curled against the stone balcony, scraping painfully against her knuckles. Remembering where she was, she quickly pulled them away before she tore enough flesh to expose blood. She toyed instead nervously with her new ring. She hadn't felt the night's too-cold air until now. Now it seeped into her bones.

"Where?"

"Sources were unreliable at best. No one can confirm it was actually him," admitted Eoin. His hesitance to answer her question only built up her dread. Her throat felt like it was coated in ash. "New York,"

New York. The very state she was headed towards—coincidence? Sasha doubted it. Eoin didn't know that she'd been going in that direction, no one had, as far as she knew. Only Malachi might have known about her apartment. Had _he_ somehow uncovered a paper trail? Would she have arrived at her Brooklyn apartment and found him lying in wait for her? Would he really risk everything, his own life, just to take hers?

Suddenly she felt sick to her stomach. Until now she'd feared him like one feared nightmares; like something there, an illusion that haunted you but couldn't hurt you unless you helped it to. Now she realized that the threat was very real.

"Look, you don't have to worry," said Eoin. "You'll come back home, and that bastard will never touch you. I promise you, Sasha, he won't get anywhere near you. And if he tries, he'll meet the business end of a stake,"

"Eric!"

Eric's head snapped up to find Pam descending the grand staircase that led up the Bill Compton's apartments. He groaned, looking to see if anyone saw her. Fortunately, Bill had finally made an appearance, and everyone had gathered in the ballroom. He himself would be needed soon; he'd be kneeling before Compton once again.

Wasn't he _so_ excited?

"Pamela," said Eric, patience wearing thin. But his heart wasn't in his admonishment. "Why the fuck are you—"

The blonde vampire, the one with Sasha's nest, appeared at the top of the stairs behind his progeny.

" _Pamela, vær så snill!_ " she plead in Norwegian—ah, now, Eric thought, he could see her Nordic features. She was from his part of the world, was she? He wondered when. Then Mimi saw him and, if at all possible, she went considerably paler. She cursed, and then she disappeared into the ballroom.

"Getting friendly with California, are we?" Eric teased, understanding now why Pam had decided it was a good idea to break into the rooms upstairs. But his progeny was not similarly amused; she zipped up to him.

"Eric, it's about Sasha," she told him.

"What, that she isn't a succubus? I figured that out already, thank you," he told her. "We need to be joining the coronation." She shook her head violently.

"No, Eric, you don't understand," said Pam. She was in distress, causing him to frown in concern.

"Pamela what is it?"

"It's the King of California. He has a _claim_ on her."

This coronation was shaping up to be everything Sasha hadn't wanted it to be. Although she was happy to be once again on speaking terms with Eric Northman—she assumed they were, if he was inviting her to " _dinner_ ". But she was less thrilled with his accusations (what the _hell_ had she done to make her think she was a succubus? She thought she was charming; did she come off as demonic all of a sudden?) and she wasn't too happy about saying goodbye, either.

At least Jack was having fun. She'd spotted him somewhere near the front, standing with Jessica as she beamed at her maker and king.

It wasn't like she was going to sleep with him—that was just a Bad Idea, and she was pressing her luck as it was with her little glamor-game. Not that it had ever been a real problem before, when she'd been at the nest, but it had never been difficult for her to keep away from a vampire that might be a threat to her, that might suspect what she was. With Eric it was different; he was just so interesting and so smart and she hated that she had to say goodbye. If things were different, she would have liked to call him friend.

Not that he struck her as the type to have _friends,_ much less human ones. He wasn't like her vampires in that respect. He might be interested in her for as long as she amused him—she'd go as far as saying she'd have of being his little pet for a while, if she really wanted to be—but he would be calling her his _friend_.

She shut Eric Northman out of her head, only to face far darker thoughts. Eric might wonder why she wasn't so afraid of him, but that was because she knew true evil and he wasn't it. It had haunted her dreams and night and the progress she'd made during her waking hours had been only minimal: she'd still left California, hadn't she? She'd once again been on the run. She thought she'd been running from the awful, dreadful memories, maybe even from Eoin who would drag her back and tell her to be a big girl and suck it up, but without knowing it she'd also been running from _him_.

Eoin hadn't said it, because he didn't need to say it. She was a target. Maybe it was only a chance, maybe it was silly and arrogant to think that he'd risk everything just for a shot and snapping her neck or draining her dry (as if he'd be so merciful with her; he hadn't been with the others, and they'd done nothing to him, nothing to _harm_ him) but Sasha just knew it.

Now that she knew he was in the States, she knew he'd come back for her.

 _Didn't you always know?_ She told herself. _In the back of your head, in the darkest pits of your nightmares, you knew he'd come for you. And you did nothing,_ nothing _to prepare yourself, because, because…_

Because she deserved it. Eoin said he'd failed; she'd been the biggest failure. It had been happening _right under her nose—_ she might as well have been an accessory, his partner in crime. Eric had praised her for being so observant not long ago; what a fucking joke.

The stem of the champagne glass Sasha held snapped. She stared down at the two pieces of crystal in her hand in dismay; fortunately she hadn't cut herself. A vampire near her shot her a dirty look, as if to say _oh yes, go ahead and spill blood and drag the spotlight that should be on the king onto you_. Sasha squared her jaw, not daring to do anything other than dip her head apologetically in the vampire's direction. He scoffed and looked back to the front.

Fortunately, a vigilant waitress came forward. She smiled at Sasha sympathetically and took the broke crystal away. With nothing in her hands, Sasha fiddled with the new ring on her finger. It was gaudier than the last, and it felt different; maybe because it had been spelled by a different witch. Who knew.

She hadn't been paying attention to the coronation. She blinked and tried to focus on the front of the room. A very stuffy, bony woman was introducing the king standing next to her. The king wasn't anything like what she had expected. He was handsome, but he wasn't particularly big nor tall. His hair was dark, his eyes light blue, and more than age (she put his human age in his mid to late thirties) it was weariness he wore around his eyes, in every line that creased his forehead, even in the lines around his mouth when he smile politely.

There was a tormented vampire if ever she saw one.

Sasha (carefully) gnawed on the inside of her cheek. For the life of her she couldn't find interest in the monotonous droning on of that vampire there on the little stage. _Crown him and go_ , she thought. Even in her mood, she hadn't expected to be so annoyed, feeling so urgent.

Urgent and hungry. Yes, she was suddenly feeling urgent—no, no _impatient_ —and she was fucking starving. It ached in her jaw, made the muscles pull tight like she'd just eaten something sour, tingling in the back of her jaw.

Swooning a little, Sasha took in a deep breath, unsure of where this sudden onslaught of emotions was coming from. She placed a hand on her stomach to steady herself, the sounds around her drowning out. Distantly she was aware of applause—King Compton was taking to the stage finally, soon he'd call upon his Sheriffs, Eric would kneel, _Christ_ she couldn't imagine Eric kneeling to anyone.

They were getting stronger, those feelings. Impatience was being overshadowed by hunger, hunger be excitement, excitement by arousal. Sasha wondered it this was what it felt like to be possessed by a ghost, suddenly overtaken by feelings and desires not your own.

The aching in her jaws increased tenfold. They focalized. She swore her gums were on fire. Just the top gums, right above her canines—

Sasha's hand jumped up to her mouth, covering it as he eyes went wide. Something was very wrong. She checked that the ring was still on her hand. It was. And yet, she was willing to bet anything that these weren't her feelings—they belong to someone else.

A vampire.

She tried to remain calm, she really did. King Compton was giving a rousing speech—making promises to the vampires of his new kingdom, to the allies of Louisiana—and it's enemies. He favored the AVL, promoted Tru Blood, stressed the importance of taxation (no wonder other vampires wanted Northman; this vampire sounded like an AVL bobble head) and on and on he went, and Sasha tried to keep an interested expression on her face, her heart rate down, even as her mind raced to come up with an explanation.

 _It happens. Sometimes it happens, you read a room, the feelings in it, even with the ring on, you can just pick up in the air—_

 _But not this strongly. Not this much, not a vampire like_ this _._

A warm hand tapped her shoulder

Sasha started. It was the waitress again. She smiled at her, handing her a napkin. Sasha accepted it and the waitress left. With trembling fingers, Sasha unfolded the napkin. She didn't recognize the handwriting. She didn't recognize the napkin.

She did recognize the threat.

 _I have a guard glamored._

 _Gun on your newborn._

 _Leave the undead and find me with the dead._

 _Alone._

Only reason kept her from flying in Jack's direction. Her every desire was to tackle him to the ground, shield him with her body. But she stood fast; she locked eyes on his tall form. He was whispering something into Jess's here. He looked happier than he had in a while.

Her eyes trailed farther, to where the ambassadors from the other monarchies were gathered. She found her nest mates standing just behind the California Sheriffs acting as representatives with Mimi. Mimi looked uncharacteristically cowed; Eoin appeared murderous. Even James appeared troubled. Something that happened.

Sasha's hand curled around the note in her hand. She was already in the back. It would be nothing to slip out.

Snowflakes dances across her cheeks. She glanced up; Eric Northman stared at her, frowning. She offered him a sad smile, mouthed 'goodbye'.

Sasha Buckley turned her back on the coronation and walked out. No one attempted to stop her, no one even looked her way.

* * *

 **This was another of those chapters were I wanted to get in just one more thing, but then it threatened to exceed the 10,000+ word count of chapter 10 LOL. Let me know if you guys think the rating should go up for this story (currently its T); Im thinking language/etc is on par with the show anyway, so I'm not sure it really matters... Also I know i was going to have this chapter out Saturday, but I had a job interview come up and it threw me off schedule. Fingers crossed for me!**

 **unless i add another unexpected chapter, WE ARE OFFICIALLY HALFWAY THROUGH THIS STORY! I'm SUPER excited.**

 _ **Guest:** **I loved Eric losing it a bit lol.**_

 _ **Liza:** **Mimi is fucking awful, and in the best way LOL. There will be future opportunity to really explore the dynamics she has with her nest/family, and i can't wait. We saw some here, hints and more, especially when it comes to Eoin/Sasha, Mimi/Sasha**_


	13. Chapter 13

**_TW for non-graphic mentions of rape in this chapter._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 13: Bloodbath**_

There was something entirely foreboding about Sasha Buckley's smile in that instance. Eric watched her turn around and walk away, brow creased; the urge to follow her was causing his legs to cramp up. But he remained where he was. He had a coronation to get through, had to kneel before Bill Compton _again_ and swear fealty _again_. He'd get to the bottom of that look once the ceremonial portion of the night was over.

 _Or don't. Just let her walk away,_ said a voice in his head. Logic and Reason had spoken, but they'd sounded a hell of a lot like Pam.

Yes, letting her walk away was probably the best thing. She was, apparently, the favorite of King Jakande of California and if Pam's information was to be believed, she belonged to him. Sasha had lied in telling him that she was unclaimed; now he understood why. If she belonged to a king and she was so far from home, it would be unwise to reveal herself.

But why so far from home?

 _Dammit_ , Eric thought bitterly. Just as soon as he was about ready to let go of the mystery, of the game between them that as becoming so increasingly dangerous, more questions rose up, pulling him back to her like a fucking magnet.

Now he understood the way Eoin had been eyeing him. He might have thought it was worry or even jealousy; now he understood it to be something else entirely. If he was one of the king's trusted men, then it would stand to reason he might guard Sasha jealously from other vampires for his king… _Fuck_. He'd propositioned another King's human. That was different then his flirtation with Talbot; Talbot was a vampire, far freer even if he was the paramour of a king, and they'd had an open relationship when it came to sex.

The same might not be said for Sasha.

 _You never touched her, you never had her blood,_ reasoned Eric. _But you are thinking of her again_.

It also dawned on him that he'd _glamored_ a king's human. He didn't think Sasha would run back to her king and cry wolf though; their... _moments_ had been genuine, he thought, not that he had discounted that she was a succubus.

That she was anything but human.

He really was disappointed by the truth of it, if only because he still couldn't explain his attraction. The sexual attraction he understood—he felt comfortable with. It was just sex; it was easy, it was fun, it made her disposable. But he'd gone half crazy between her scent, and this wasn't some easily explicable infatuation. Maybe it was time to come to terms with the fact that he was getting old. Vampires didn't necessarily lose their minds with age, but after the thousand-year-mark or so, they certainly were susceptible to eccentricities. Maybe this was his. Maybe, just maybe, his dick occasionally got just a little more sentimental over some women than it did for others.

" _Eric_ ,"

He didn't show that he was startled, but his eyes did snap to Pam. She'd hissed his name, frustration clear in her eyes—something was required of him. All eyes in the room were on him; Bill was eyeing him expectantly, calculatingly—just further down Jack was watching him, that look of wonder on his face nearly causing him to smile.

Eric stepped forward swiftly. Even with Bill on the small stage—a platform, really—Eric towered over him, over most in the room. Bill had forsaken some of the gaudy concessions other monarchs preferred—there was no opulent throne, just an elegant, high backed chair that he would later sit on when it came time for his guests and ambassadors to greet him, welcome him to his reign, and he did not wear an elaborate crown, only a gold, simple but beautiful circlet around his head, symbolic more than anything in intention.

"My liege," said Eric. He didn't raise his voice, mostly because he didn't need to. His voice carried easily; the vampires in the room had even stopped breathing just to hang onto his every word, no doubt to analyze his tone, his words, his very stance before the new king.

Eric dropped to a knee, the knuckles of his left hand on the stage floor, his right forearm hanging over his knee.

"My liege I, Sheriff Eric Northman of Area 5, bend the knee to your will and wishes, pledge my fealty so that together we may honor the Kingdom of Louisiana, to protect her from its enemies, to ensure peace and prosperity for her constituents. By the Blood I swear it,"

Eric didn't give a flying fuck about the Blood. Vampire religion and faith interested him even less than vampire politics. He had only ever worshipped one man, one vampire, and that had been The Boy Death, and so it would remain. But the oath was expected, it was what everyone needed to hear so that they could all relax and things could settle into the proper order of things. Eric thought it was all very silly—get him to swear on his progeny's life and then you had him stuck—but he played his part.

It was only the second time that Eric was seeing Bill since the whole Sookie mess. Bill looked a little bit better; the last time he'd seen him, the vampire had just been… _off_ , like being physically parted from his human-fae was making him ill. He looked better now, but beneath the confident smirk, his light blue eyes were appraising him with care and, dare Eric say it, Bill Compton was still seriously hurting.

"Thank you, Sheriff Northman. You may rise," said Bill. "You served your monarch well in the past—"

 _Except when I turned on the Queen in favor of my revenge on Russell Edgington._

"—just as you served the interests of Louisiana's vampires—"

 _Except when I was pushing V for said Queen._

"—and look forward to our partnership in your Area. Great things are to come,"

 _Except when you find no further use for me, and you'll attempt to kill me. Again._

Eric flashed his new king a dazzling smile, bowed just enough he didn't come across as disrespectful but not low enough the gesture would surely be read as mocking, and then he retreated back to his spot next to Pam.

As the other Sheriffs, one by one, took their oath once more before Bill Compton, the king met Eric's gaze. Bill gave him the minimalist of nods, a sort of white flag perhaps; Eric wasn't fooled.

Pam slipped her hands into his and squeezed.

* * *

 _I have a guard glamored._

 _Gun on your newborn._

 _Leave the undead and find me with the dead._

 _Alone._

The words were seared into Sasha's brain as she robotically walked out of the ballroom. Like an awful song, she suspected they would stay there often—well, they might, if by some chance she survived this encounter.

It was impossible not to know who was behind the note, despite the sheer unlikelihood of it all. There was only _one_ person it could be.

 _Leave the undead and find me with the dead_.

Leave the vampires. That part had been clear; they were the undead. So who were the dead? She remembered the cemetery she'd spotted on the balcony when she'd been there with Eric—that seemed like years ago, now, the moment all dried up and faded like an ancient photograph.

Sasha found her way to the back of the house. A pristine kitchen was there, messy from the preparations for the coronation. It was empty of activity, the cooks likely having departed and left the mess to be cleared up by their underlings, the waiters still tending to the humans. She'd heard rumors of a cake, earlier.

Just before she made it to the backdoor, Sasha spotted a block of knives. Their steel handles gleamed beneath the fluorescent kitchen lighting, beckoning her with a promise they wouldn't be able to keep. They might be wicked sharp, they might slice through flesh, but they would not save her tonight.

* * *

The cemetery was cold in a way that a cave was. There was no breeze, the air hung still and stifling. The silk of her gown whispered over wet grass and her toes sank into the loamy soil. She'd left her heels at the gate's entrance. Sasha thought she must look like a figure of some Gothic novel, dresses in white in a cemetery, to meet a creature of the night.

She would have said that the cemetery was empty, but she knew it wasn't true. Each step she'd taken toward it had stoked the burning embers in her gums, had nearly driven her to cry out in frustration with the need to just _bite_ something, arousal and excitement and trepidation twisting in a mad torrent inside of her. These emotions weren't hers, and she still had no idea how or why she was so tapped into them.

Sasha slowly walked through the cemetery, every sound coming across as impossibly loud in the dreadful silence. She passed Drew Marshall's grave, skirting around it to come to a full stop before the grave Jack had climbed out of. Three weeks. It seemed like longer.

* * *

If you were to ask Sam Merlotte, chances were he'd tell you that Bon Temps was one of the absolute shittiest places to live in, period. The people were rude, couldn't mind their own goddam business, and the more advanced the rest of the world got, it seemed the more ignorant the folks of Bon Temps got.

But, it was home. Of all the shitty places he'd moved around in, Bon Temps had been the one shitty place he'd carved out for himself. He might not have the wife and kids that he'd hoped to one day have, but he had the diner, and he had a few good friends (even though, if they weren't running after vampires, they seemed to be downright disappearing on him these days) and he had a house. He was doing well for himself, and he still had his secret. He even sort of had a family; sure, he'd shot Tommy, but you know.

They were working through it. Sort of.

At the end of the day he loved Bon Temps, and he felt a certain responsibility to protect it. Maybe it was because his most comfortable shifter form was a dog, but Sam was one loyal son of a bitch. And shifters might not rank high on the totem pole of supes—they weren't the cunning, powerful beings vampires were, and they weren't the strong, pack animals that werewolves were, but if they were anything they were resilient.

Sam would be damned if he let a bunch vampires roll into town and take over. Most days he wasn't sure where he stood with Bill Compton; their only common (brittle) ground they'd ever built any trust on had been Sookie. But Sookie was gone, and now a buncha fangs were convening at Compton's place. So he staked it out.

He chose the form of a barn owl, circling around Compton residence. His owl-form's keen sense of sight and sound were helpful, and he processed them all carefully as the wind streamlined his feathers. A party was going on; a coronation.

 _Bill Compton's coronation_.

He nearly shifted back into his own human flesh Sam was so surprised. Thankfully he managed to stay bird, catching himself on a warm draft of wind. It was tempting to follow the heat, to dive down on the prey he heard scuttling through the grass below—vole, by the sounds of it—the longer he flew. It was like that, being a shifter; the longer you stayed animal, the more that beast's soul began to affect you. The first few times it had happened, Sam had worried he'd never return human. Now he knew better, it was simply a matter of staying on-mission.

And not ingesting anything that would make his human stomach ache like hell.

He flew past a balcony. Two familiar figures were there: Eric Northman and Sasha Buckley. Sam alighted on an awning, listening to the voices below. They spoke quietly, and though guardedly, Sam thought there was an astounding amount of intimacy there.

There had just been something about that girl that smelled like trouble when she'd first walked into Merlotte's. He'd been aware of it, and weary too. There was just something _off_ about her, something in her scent that made him shy away. It wasn't evil, like that forceful aura that Maryann had. It was more like…it was more like the instinct between the owl and the vole. In this case, _he_ was the vole and _she_ was the owl. That was the other thing with shifters. They might not be amongst the most formidable, but because of that, they could spot a supe a mile off, especially one more powerful than they were.

His human mind told her that their couldn't be anything predatory, about a girl like that. Maybe she had a trouble past, maybe she didn't, but she was real cute and nice, and what harm could she be? But his shifter's soul said different. After all, prey could always identify a predator.

Sam Merlotte had known that Sasha Buckle was a supe the moment she'd walked into his diner. It was why he tried to hurry her along. Maybe she wasn't involved with anything nefarious, maybe she was like Sookie, a sweet, innocent girl that drew the likes of the Bill Comptons and Eric Northmans of the world, but he'd spotted the danger and wanted her gone. And she seemed kind and good—she was helping that newborn. But no supe had ever done Bon Temps any good, and for some reason they just kept cropping up all over the place.

 _"Can I have you over for dinner?_ " Eric Northman was asking.

 _Smooth_ , thought Sam. If owls could snort, he would have in disgust at Eric's double entendre.

" _Very funny,_ "

" _What's the harm in spending the night with me? We've just established there isn't any for either of us,_ "

Sam took off. He really didn't need to stick around to see where that conversation was headed. He only hoped the girl had enough sense to get the hell out of Dodge.

He flew around for another hour, perching here and there, listening in on the voices inside the mansion. But Sam had never been very good at picking up other languages, and many of the vampires were speaking them, some he recognized by their sound others sounded like flat out gibberish to his untrained ears. He was about to call it a night when he spotted Sasha again.

She looked like she was sneaking out. Out the back, and across the lawn. Curious—she was shifty, twitchy even, and for the first time he thought she came across as the prey, the hunted—and so he followed. Silent as the night, he drifted over her, following her into the cemetery and alighting on a tree to watch her.

Okay, so the girl seriously liked cemeteries. The bottom of her gown was filthy as she came to as top before a grave. She couldn't be planning on returning to the party, not like that.

Sam realized they weren't alone before she did. His feathers flustered, a squawk of warning escaped his beak. Sasha started at the noise, head whipping around.

A vampire stepped out of the shadows.

Sam's wings shuffled nervously—something just wasn't right here. His talons furled and unfurled on the branch he was perched on.

The vampire was handsome, with a headful of styled copper curlsand grey eyes. He was dressed in a simple tuxedo, his hands twitching at his sides. His thin lips were curled into a smile.

It was the most awful smile he'd ever seen.

Sasha swallowed thickly, fear trembling her voice as she whispered, "Bartholomew,"

* * *

" _Bartholomew_ ,"

She hadn't meant to say his name. It just tumbled out past her lips, like maybe saying his name _now_ would offer her some small power, _something_ with which to defend her.

"Oh, Sasha," Bartholomew's words curled in the space between them, slick and condescending. "You look so…grown up. You look like a woman,"

Disappointed; his voice was laced with disappointment.

Once upon a time she'd called him Bart, and she had trusted him, cared for him even, in her own way. Something about him had always been _off_ , but she had never gone so far as to suspect something insidious about him. Bartholomew Walker came across as charming and mysterious, and always like he had secret. But who didn't?

"You know what's going to happen, I assume," Bartholomew said conversationally. He drew nearer, walking around her. "Funny it happens here, of all places. A cemetery? Poetic, or just coincidental?"

"They'll be onto you," said Sasha. "Eoin, the others. Your scent will be fresh; once she's onto it, Mimi will find you. She's an excellent tracker,"

"Maybe, maybe not. She didn't last time, after all," shrugged Bartholomew. "It doesn't really matter at this point. You're here, I'm here, and they're currently indisposed. You understand why I'm doing this now, don't you?"

"I don't understand anything you do," she said bitterly. "So just, just get on with it,"

"No, no, no," said Bartholomew. Another small smile played on his lips. "This has gone on for _so_ long—aren't you curious? You've played a central role to all of this for _years_ ,"

Sasha stiffened. "What do you mean, years?"

Bartholomew sighed. "Originally, I planned on waiting for you in that little hovel of yours in Brooklyn. But I got impatient waiting, so I came to you. I could have just taken you at any moment you know—that little newborn of yours I could have snapped like a twig. But the Sheriff had your number, so I waited, just to be sure I didn't add yet _another_ price on my head," Bartholomew suddenly turned, flashing her a bright and dazzling smile. "How _do_ you do it? Charm them, even the Sheriff? I know why I like you… _liked you_ …you fulfilled a certain… _type_ … I have. But McGinty? The King? This Sheriff? Oh well. Doesn't matter, I suppose,"

Still Bartholomew trailed around her in a wide circle, his pace leisurely. He was absolutely relishing this, and Sasha was growing sicker by the second, assaulted by her fear and revolt and what she was certain were _his_ emotions _._

"How'd you find me?" she asked. His brow creased, lips pursed, like he was taken aback by the question.

"Isn't it obvious?" asked Bartholomew. "You've always been bright, don't disappoint now. How does a vampire ever know exactly where a human is?"

Dread washed over her like a roiling sea storm in the night, dark and bitter, threatening to drown her as it pulled her under.

"Y-you gave me your blood?" she asked.

"You were sixteen," said Bartholomew, voice soft. "When you sleep, you look so angelic, so young, Sasha. You reminded me so much of the little girl that first came to us all those years ago. Those rosy lips of yours, parted just so, just enough for me to slip you a few drops. Of course, it only takes a drop. I couldn't risk too much more than that, or someone might smell me all over you, and well, that would go ugly quickly. So the first was to track you, if ever I needed to. The second and third were risky, but I just couldn't help myself. To know that a part of me was in you…"

Bartholomew shivered, like the sheer memory of what he spoke of brought him pleasure. Sasha keeled over and retched onto the ground. The acidic bile burned her throat and brought stinging tears to her eyes.

"Why didn't you, why didn't you just end it then?" she asked, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. "Why let it go on for all those years?" **  
**Bartholomew smiled at her ruefully, shaking his head. "You don't understand what it's like, for people like me. You humans, you always want to know _why_ , you always have to find a label—psychopath, sociopath, serial killer, like it'll help you understand things. But you don't, because you don't understand what it's like to have this… this _compulsion_ burning inside of you. It's more like a vampire's bloodlust than anything, but even then... You tell yourself you can live without it, logic tells you that you can—but then you reach this point that you just know you _can't_ and you have to do it, or you'll die. You'll go mad without it,"

He laughed darkly, looking up at the sky for a moment. "I was your age—human—when it first happened. My father took me with him to the Cape colony, my first time in Africa, my first time out of England. I learned then he had something of a second family there, with a native woman. I thought she was beautiful—but then I saw her daughter and, _wow_ ," he let out a low whistle. "Absolutely stunning, she was. I'd never seen a girl with features like hers up until that point. Wild hair, skin like milk and tea. My little half-sister. I held onto the urge for as long as I could—three whole weeks. It nearly drove me mad, waiting like that. I had never experienced urges like that, I'd been with a few women up until that point, but it ever satisfied me like it should have. But that girl…"

"Three weeks I held off, and then I had to have her. So I did. She was eleven, maybe twelve, I'm not too sure. She cried and screamed through the whole thing, but I had never been more satisfied. She tried to fight me off, and I knew she wouldn't keep quiet about what I'd done, so I killed her," his eyes closed, he took in a deep breath. "Let me tell you, Sasha, I'm still not sure what brings me more pleasure. The fucking or the killing—I suppose it doesn't matter. I get do both,"

Sasha's hands fell over her mouth to catch her sob.

"When I was turned vampire, my maker knew what I was. He admired me for it, I think. But he told me that I could not go on as I had, or I would risk exposing what we were. So I stopped. It was easy to curb my desire for a century or so, anyway— . There was so much to explore as a vampire. Then we came to America, and I found myself tempted once more," He sighed bitterly. "It started to become a problem. We had to leave cities every few weeks. Most didn't care about a few missing girls—I don't have to tell you how this country has always treated your kind. I never understood it. I always found you to be such beautiful creatures, skin not quite light not quite dark, so exotic," he reached for her hair, then retracted his hand, moving away.

"Finally my maker, exasperated by my behavior, Commanded me to stop. His Command created some tension between us, and eventually we parted ways. The vampire world started to change. The AVL formed, became a threat to vampires like me. So I changed my ways, I hid. I ended up in California, and joined King Jakande's nest. That went well, until—"

"—until you started killing and raping again?" Sasha accused. She tasted salt in her mouth. "You used _my_ organization to find your victims. I tried to protect all those children, and I was practically handing you those little girls!"

"Yes, but don't you _see_?" exclaimed Bartholomew. Suddenly he was in front of her, grasping her by the shoulders. This close to him, she wondered how she had missed that glint of madness in his eyes. It was so apparent now. "I was fine! I was doing well! Then _you_ came to live at the compound with us, and suddenly you were everywhere! EVERYWHERE! Your scent, the sound of your laughter, _you_ —all those old urges, feelings, they came rushing back! Only my maker's Command kept you alive those first few months, I swear it. Then my maker passed, and I had to have you,"

Sasha's eyes widened—she should have seen that now, given what he was telling her now, about his _preference_ but she was shocked all the same. He released her spun away, hands making mad gestures.

"But if you weren't under close eye of the King's, then it was Eoin McGinty's— _even Madeline Hanson_ saved you from me without you knowing it. James the Saint—all of them. But the compulsion was there, too strong for me to fight now that my maker's Command was rendered null by his death—so I started again. But it couldn't be you, and I had to be _so_ careful. I couldn't even go after my preferred type, not really. I settled. For years I did that—then you started your little organization and it was just too good a possibility to pass up. You grew older, my direct interest in you waned some. You'd grown up too much, but I will never forget that you sparked my interest again, that you're the reason I started again. Sasha, you're my muse,"

She turned away and emptied the contents of her stomach—mostly champagne—into the grass next to them. Bartholomew was somewhere else, frowning as he thought hard.

"I made mistakes. I forgot to be cautious, careful. Eventually you figured it out, and then—maybe a part of me wanted you to know. You to be the one to figure it all out," He shook his head. "I _knew_ I'd face consequences. That I would be punished. But they all took your side so quickly, the other vampires, your precious king. They wanted me to meet the true death, so I ran. I knew I couldn't get to you when I'd been exposed. But in the back of my head, I was waiting for the perfect chance at you. Leaving you untouched has always haunted me. And now you're here, your vampires are just out of reach…this is just too perfect. The idea of Eoin finding your mangled corpse is particularly arousing to me. I never fancied him,"

He was still looking out across the cemetery, his eyes not focused on anything in particular. Then Bartholomew flashed a dazzling smile into the dark, and turned to face her, hands rubbing together.

"So," said Bartholomew. "Let's begin. I've wasted enough time as it is but, my little historian, I really wanted you to know the whole truth, and your role in all of this. Who knows; if we'd never met, I might not have fallen off the metaphorical wagon. I wasn't exactly exposed to children until you. When you join those precious little girls of yours, you can tell them it was your fault they're dead."

Bartholomew advanced. Sasha stood her ground, rooted to the spot by the agony of fear and the terrible emotions she still felt from him. His blood; all this time she'd had his blood and not know that he knew exactly what she felt, where she was.

An owl swooped overhead, flying right over Bartholomew and landing between them. Sasha fell back in surprise. But when it hit the ground it wasn't an owl—it was a man.

A naked Sam Merlotte.

"Holy shit!" Sasha exclaimed, the shock jolting her from her spot on the ground. She fell back on her ass, scrambling away in surprise— _what on earth_ —

"Sasha, _run_!" Sam exclaimed.

"This isn't your fight, shifter. Run along," called out Bartholomew.

"Sam, listen to him! You have no idea what he's capable of!"

"Like hell I'm leaving you here like this!"

"Look out!" She shouted.

Sam yelped as Bartholomew charged him. They knocked into a headstone, Bartholomew cracking the cement with his back. They wrestled around for a few moments, until Sam was no longer on the ground—in his place was a dog, one Sasha was certain she'd seen around the bungalow before.

It had been Sam all along.

The dog— _Sam_ —growled low in his throat as Bartholomew scrambled to his feet, fangs bared.

"You won't be the first to die for her, mutt," he hissed.

* * *

The second the ceremony was over, Eric slipped away. He'd just crossed the threshold when Pam grabbed the sleeve of his coat.

"Where the hell are you going now?" she asked. "I hope like hell it ain't to that little king's-slut, Eric. Stay away,"

"Pamela, stay here," he ordered. Her expression was terse, but she turned on her heel and darted back into the ballroom. More blood was being served, along with cake for the human companions. He watched her go for a moment—

"Eric!"

Eric turned to find the newborn, Jack, coming his way. "What?" he snapped.

The newborn's excited smile faded at his brusque tone. "Um, sorry, I just—just was wondering if Sasha was still with you, cause I haven't seen her and um, it's cool. Never mind,"

"I saw her leave during the ceremony," admitted Eric.

"Leave?" the newborn repeated. "Why would she leave? She was looking forward to the ceremony all week. She wouldn't shut up about it,"

Eric thought his instinct had been dead on; something wasn't right.

"You two look suspicious as all fuck,"

Eric internalized a sigh of frustration, turning to the Irishman. The Irishman didn't back down, staring back at him coolly.

"Can I help you?"

"Where's Sasha?"

"It appears we're all wondering the same thing," said Eric.

"Eric said she left," added Jack.

"What d'you mean _left_?" asked Eoin.

"Why don't you tell us? You're the last one that spoke to her," said Eric.

"Which way did she go?"

"She doesn't need all three of us to go looking for her," groaned Eric in exasperation. "I'll be right back,"

Eoin's hand shot out to his chest. "Really, Sheriff, I insist,"

* * *

Sam Merlotte was brave to swoop down to her rescue— _holyshitSamMerlotteisafuckingshifter!_ —but he was also going to die. There was no way that he could take on Bartholomew, weaponless.

"Sam _go!_ Shift! Fly!" she shouted.

Sasha hadn't grabbed any of the knives from the kitchen, knowing that unless she could somehow lop off Bartholomew's head with one fell blow they'd be useless. But she hadn't left empty handed either. She'd gone with something far more practical. Now she reached in between her breasts, where she'd nestled a long, broken wooden spoon.

Sam cried out as Bartholomew's fangs raked across a shoulder, snapping dangerously close to his throat. He'd been in and out of his human and animal forms as they wrestled on the ground, shifting between them so fast Sasha could barely keep up.

"Sasha, run!" he shouted at her as he managed to kick Bartholomew back in the chest. "Go! Find Bill Compton!"

"I'm not leaving you, you idiot!" she screamed back. She brandished the broken spoon, searching for an opening.

Then both Sam and Bartholomew's eyes snapped up, beyond Sasha, in the direction of the Compton estate.

"Fuck!" swore Bartholomew. He picked up Sam and slammed him back down on the ground hard, knocking the wind out of him and likely sending his brain rattling in his skull. Sasha cried out, starting forward.

"We've run out of time," said Bartholomew. "So this'll be merciful on you."

He pounced.

Sasha cried out as she fell back, the vampire onto of her. His fangs sank into her neck, ripping through flesh. Pain flared up and down her body at the bite, but so did something else—pleasure and satisfaction, _his_ pleasure and satisfaction. She tasted bile—

The stale. Where was the fucking spoon?

Her hand scrambled to the side, patting the wet grass frantically for any sign of the thing. She found it when she slammed her palm into it—the pain was nothing compared to what she felt at her neck as he drank greedily and tore through flesh—

Her fingers closed around the handle. She raised it high—she couldn't see with the vampire feeding on top of her—and then brought it crashing down somewhere she hoped lethal.

"You little quim!"

Bartholomew howled in pain and fury. Blood gurgled out of his mouth and onto her face; she'd stabbed him through the neck. He fell to the side, reaching for the wooden spoon.

Sasha rolled onto him, wrenching the spoon out of his neck with force. Then she brought it down into his chest.

Straight through his heart.

For a second, their eyes met. Genuine shock filled Bartholomew's eyes, like this was the one outcome he hadn't expected, like he'd never though she'd be the one to watch the other die. Sasha's eyes blurred from the tears leaking from them.

Then Bartholomew exploded. Sasha fell forward as the body beneath her combusted into flesh and blood and gore, showering her in it. Her hand reached out to the ground before her face could smash into it. Belatedly, she realized someone was calling her name.

She looked up, searching for the shifter. Sam was slowly standing, looking worse for wear. She shook her head when he started towards her. It was bad enough that a human was about to get caught staking a vampire—at a fucking vampire coronation, no less. Most vampires didn't have a high opinion regarding shifters. Sam hesitated.

"Sam, _go_ ," she whispered.

Then his head cocked to the side, like he was listening to something. He nodded. Thenhe shifted on the spot, so fast she wouldn't ever be able to describe the sight. He was an owl once more, soaring off.

For a second, Sasha just sat, staring at the ground. Hot adrenaline was rushing through her like jet fuel, making her feel as alive as any magic in her veins. She'd _survived_. She smiled, dazed…

…and then it all came crashing down. Bartholomew—shit she was _wearing_ him—what he'd told her.

Her chest started to heave as she sobbed, her entire body shaking with the weight of the night's terrible experience. She couldn't even register the people standing around her; distantly she realized she was standing—someone had helped her to her feet. Someone was shaking her—someone was looking right at her.

Green eyes. Not the cruel grey of Eoin. Green—Eoin. Eoin was shaking her and shouting in her face.

"Sasha? Fucking hell, little bird, answer me! Are you all right?"

"M-my gown is ruined,"

Trembling and covered in deceased vampire, those seemed to be the only words Sasha was able to get out. Logically she knew there were other concerns, but like a broken record, her mind had fixed itself on that one singular, petty factor. Her bloodstained hands reached for the ruined silk of her dress, tugging at it furiously. "It's ruined!" she sobbed.

"She's in shock," muttered Eric. Eric was here? Eric! "Sasha, give me the stake,"

What stake? She wasn't holding a stake. She had a spoon—a very big, kitchen spoon. It wasn't until he said the word that she realized she was even still holding onto the bloodied weapon, and she dropped it like it had singed her flesh. She'd just _killed_ someone with a _spoon_.

She'd killed Bartholomew Walker with a spoon. He'd bought her a bike one Christmas. Bartholomew was dead.

"Oh my god. B-Bart," she gasped, wide-eyed.

" _What_?" Eoin exclaimed sharply. "Bartholomew—this was him?"

"I just—I just killed—"

"Sasha Buckley, _shut up_ ," hissed Eric. She looked up at him—she'd never seen him look like that before. Not even when she'd made him angry that night at Fangtasia. Here he was…angry, yes, but something else too. Panicked? Spooked? That didn't sound like him.

To Eoin and Jack—Jack was here to? He couldn't see her, not like this!— he said, "You two clean this up immediately,"

Eoin's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Now hold up a minute, Sheriff,"  
"There isn't time. If anyone finds out about this—"

"I—I," Sasha stammered. When her eyes finally focused on Jack, she shook her head violently. "Jack you can't be here—none of you can! Leave before someone, if something sees or finds out—"

Eric stepped to her side, gripping her elbow. Eoin growled dangerously, but Jack for once didn't seem to find a threat towards his would-be guardian.

"Fine. McGinty, clean this up. Jack, return to the party. If we're all missing, it will begin to raise suspicion. I don't think anyone heard anything; sounds didn't echo well across the lawn." said Eric. "Get cleaning,"

"Eric—" Sasha begin to protest, but he was already dragging her away from the site of the crime. Eoin flashed in front of them.

"Just where the hell do you think you're taking her, Northman?" he hissed.

"We don't have time for this. If someone asks, I've retired for the evening with a snack," said Eric, jostling Sasha for affect. "Alert my progeny; she'll understand,"

"Eoin, it's fine," called Jack. His voice was shaky, but he sounded sure. "She'll be fine with him,"

Eoin glanced at the newborn, then back to Sasha. She was still shaking, her eyes fixed on the dark puddle staining the grass. How could someone—no matter how evil or vile—after living through dozens of lifetimes, be reduced to just that? A puddle?

* * *

Eric glanced down at Sasha. Her eyes were horrorstruck, glued to what all three vampires had known immediately to be a deceased member of their kind. They were losing her to shock. Fast.

"Fucking hell," swore the Irishman. "If anything happens to her—"

"I'll listen to your empty threats later," said Eric. He picked up Sasha, flashing across the cemetery and to the familiar yellow house that lay beyond it. He deposited her on the top step, then tried the door. It gave way, and he wasn't completely surprised when he was allowed to enter. Sookie Stackhouse might have rescinded her invitation, but it seemed that magic didn't apply now that she was wherever the hell she was.

"Eric come on, let's not add breaking and entering onto the list of crimes," said Sasha. "Because there's a list now. Oh my god I just committed a crime." He ignored her babbling, pulling her into the house.

"The place belongs to a friend," he told her, closing the door behind them.

Sookie Stackhouse's home was, as usual, spotless. It seemed that the only time it was ever anything but was when it was made so by blood, and he realized a disconcerting pattern. Sasha shivered, and she looked around, subconsciously shuffling towards him.

"I don't like this house, Eric," she murmured, wrapping her arms around herself. Her eyes were dragged away from the kitchen to the foyer-ceiling fan. "Can we leave? Please?"

"Not yet. You're wearing evidence," he told her. "Come here,"

Looking incredibly vulnerable, she did as he asked, moving carefully through the darkness. He of course saw much better than she did, and it helped that her white dress shone like moonlight with the little light available. His hands trailed over her back, searching for the zipper. He found it at the side of the fitted bodice and dragged it down. The blood-spattered silk fell, pooling at her feet and leaving Sasha standing in a set of nude lingerie. For a long moment Eric stared; the combination of the simple but sexy underwear and the blood she wore was an intensely erotic combination.

He didn't have to know the details to realize that she'd just fought off a vampire and lived. And to a vampire like him, who had always enjoyed for his women to be warriors… it was hot.

"Eric?" she said softly. He glanced up at her eyes reluctantly, at least until she saw her level of discomfort. The hair on her arms rose as she hugged herself. It was the first time he had seen her so vulnerable. That image of her as a warrior cracked as the human below shone through.

"Shower is upstairs," he told her, shedding his own clothing. It had gotten stained when he'd carried her over, and it would also have to be burned. Pam would be pissed, and he too was filled with some regret.

He had to take her hand to get her to move, and he led her up the stairs of Sookie's home and to the bathroom. Eric had to direct her like a puppeteer; her shock had yet to fade, and she seemed little more capable than to follow him like a lost pup. It was strange to have her so submissive.

Eric left her in the bathroom to hunt down a pair of towels. Predictably, he found clean towels in the hallway linen closet, and grabbed the two biggest he could find along with a smaller one and brought them into the bathroom. He dropped them onto the sink, glancing at Sasha as he moved to turn the shower on. Her eyes were faraway and haunted; he expected her to cry, but she seemed…vacant.

He didn't turn the lights on, not wanting to attract attention to the house that belonged to a missing girl. When the bathroom had gotten significantly steamy, he turned to the girl. Sasha tore her eyes away from the rug, looking at his extended hand.

She took it, and he marveled for a moment at how small her hand was. He led her to the shower, helping her in. He stepped in after her, peering down at her when she stared up at him. When she said nothing, he gently pushed her under the hot spray, selecting a bottle of bath wash. He squeezed an ample amount into his hand, reaching for hers with his free hand.

Eric began lathering the soap up her arm, starting at her hand and then working his hand up. She stayed still, frowning down at her skin. He doubted she could see, but the water at their feet was turning pink as he scrubbed away vampire blood. He soaked a washcloth and started to work on her face, gently circling the cloth against her skin.

Then he noticed what he should have seen initially. She wasn't just coated in vampire blood; her own blood was mixed in, its fresh, heated scent coming through the vampire muck. He angled her neck to the side to inspect the wound.

Maybe it was better for her that she was in shock right now. It was a nasty wound.

Eric brought his wrist up to his mouth, nicking the artery there open on a fang. He brought his wrist up to Sasha's mouth—

"NO!" She screamed, starting violently. He had to catch her when she slipped on the ceramic tub floor, quickly shushing her.

"Your neck, Sasha. You were bitten. Badly," he told her. "Take what I'm offering,"

Sasha shook her head, trying to backing away from him. "No, no, no blood. _Please Eric_ ," she pled with him. He studied her for a moment too long; the wound at his wrist closed.

"Fine," he said. This time he opened up his palm, reaching towards Sasha. She flinched, but he ignored that, moving to cup the side of her neck as carefully as he could. Slowly Sasha opened her eyes, meeting his.

"Taking my blood topically won't heal you the way it would if you ingest it," he told her. "It will prevent scaring, repair most of the damage—it might not necessarily fix what's inside,"

She said nothing. Only stared up at him as he let his blood trickle into her open wound. When the cut on his hand began tingling, flesh mending, he pulled away. He picked up a wet rag and began washing her.

As he carefully rinsed her face, Sasha's lip began to tremble.

"I killed him," she said quietly. He barely caught her as her legs gave out from under her, and she sighed as he settled on the tub floor. He reached around her and switched the water from spray to the faucet, and set the stopper behind him.

"I killed Bartholomew," Sasha said shakily. "And you're giving me a bath,"

"You're drenched in his blood," Eric said by way of reply. "As am I,"

Sasha twisted around to face him, eyes impossibly big. Her hair was a wet mess—the pins from her hairstyle keeping it in a messy bundle. With a hand he guided her chin away from him and began to remove the pins from her hair. He let them drop off the side of the tub.

"Why haven't you arrested me?"

"Would you rather I did?" asked Eric.

"I just staked a vampire. Why wouldn't you?"

Eric didn't answer her, mostly because he didn't have any he was willing to divulge. He'd acted purely on instinct, just like he suspected Sasha had. The stricken look on her bloodied face, the way that her sheer panic had begun to affect her scent had set off his protective instincts in a primal way.

The last of the pins fell to the floor outside the tub, and with them silence. Eric teased his fingers through her hair, finger-combing her curls. Wet they were dark, the honeyed and near-blonde tones nearly nonexistent, and when he pulled on the curls they extended down her back and teased the hem of her underwear. Her pulse raced, and he could only imagine how unsettling it was to have a vampire at her back when she was so vulnerable and defenseless, with her neck so openly on display.

Breaking the silence, Sasha asked, "What are you going to do to me?"

"I haven't decided yet," murmured Eric, sitting back in the tub. It was absurdly small for him, his legs crowding up out of the water and around Sasha. She reached out and shut the water off when it threatened to spill out of the tub. Her shock was starting to fade, at least.

"You must have some idea," said Sasha. "You had the others…clean up,"

Eric groaned, reaching forward for a fistful of her hair. He tugged her back against his chest and she complied stiffly. Her heart was pounding in her ribcage so forcibly he felt it in his chest. It was a strange sensation; for a moment, he imagined his own heart beating again.

"Why did a vampire attack you?" asked Eric.

She was quiet for a long moment. While Eric wasn't so sure that sitting in a bathtub so close to Compton's was prudent, he was also unwilling to give up this rare opportunity with Sasha. She was vulnerable now, and even she wouldn't argue that after what he had done, what he was willing to do for her, that he wasn't entitled to that information.

"Let's start with you telling me who he was," said Eric.

"Was," Sasha repeatedly hollowing. "Who he _was_ ,"

Still, between her shock and misery, she wasn't speaking as easily as he would have liked. He eased her further down the tub from him, so that she was sitting up, her knees hugged tightly to her chest. Then he reached for the comb that sat on the edge of the tub next to him. For a moment he froze, something akin to guilt stirring in him as his wet fingers touched the blonde hairs threaded through the comb's teeth. Perhaps taking Sasha here, to Sookie Stackhouse's home, hadn't been such a good idea.

Then Sasha began to speak so softly it was only thanks to his enhanced hearing that he was able to make out her words.

"His name was Bartholomew,"

Eric ripped Sookie's hairs out of the comb and let them flutter to the floor of the bathroom. Then he began to pull it carefully through Sasha's soaked curls.

"And how did you know Bartholomew?"

Softly, she said, "He was a part of our nest. It was years before I realized what he really was. Before any of us realized it. And I guess I didn't know everything until tonight."

"And what was he?" asked Eric. He had to work to keep his tone even. He didn't think she'd realized it, but she'd already slipped up. Previously she'd only allowed herself to say that she knew vampires, that she was part of a nest. But if she'd been with the nest 'for years', well, she was in her early twenties. He suspected then that she had been a part of this nest for longer than he had previously thought, since before she was eighteen. And that only confirmed his other suspicions; what would a nest of vampires want to do with a human girl if she wasn't anything less than extra-ordinary?

"A monster," whispered Sasha. Her chin dropped to her huddle knees. He continued to comb through her hair, thinking it soothed her.

"I started a non-profit," said Sasha. "But you probably knew that. Our job was to find new homes for runaways, to educate them, feed them. Protect. It was a big success. The King… it was good PR, so he funded the project. The AVL got involved too. But then, but then kids went missing,"

Sasha choked out a sob, and she bent lower over her knees, muffling her cries against them. Eric replaced the comb running through her hair with his fingers. This wasn't news to him; it aligned with the information Kimberly Smith had gathered.

"It took so much longer for us to even realize than it should have. _I_ should have known. But they were orphans and runaways, and people thought they were doing what we're best at: running away,"

What _we're_ best at.

"Then, then some of the kids that I'd come to know really well…they started to disappear, and I knew something was really wrong. I started listening to my gut, and I brought up my fears to Eoin,"

"We started an investigation. We kept it quiet. It became apparent that a vampire was behind the matter. But without evidence… I was human. I couldn't just accuse a vampire to the King," said Sasha.

She paused, shaking her head.

"We started to get suspicious of Bartholomew. So then I did what I do ," said Sasha.

"You started digging into his past," realized Eric. She had done just that with Peter, and he saw now that it had not been the first time she had applied her historian skills for justice.

"Yes. Part of the works I was doing in LA was putting together the histories of local vampires. I realized that this had happened before, in cities he'd lived in. He'd been human then. But seven girls between the ages of eight and fifteen had gone missing in the span of four months before I realized it,"

"The evidence I had was circumstantial at best. All it really did was place human Bartholomew in the same city as the original murders. But the King believed me. Bartholomew grew furious that the King had chosen a 'breather slut' over a vampire. A fight broke out—Bartholomew managed to escape,"  
Sasha broke down again, and when she found her voice, it wasn't just anguish and misery in her voice, but fury and hatred. "But he didn't just run. The bastard, he wanted to punish me for exposing him."

Eric's hands froze in her hair. Then slipped down to her shoulders, urging her to turn face him. He tipped her tear-stained face to face him, brushing hair out of her face.

"What did he do to you, Sasha?" he asked lowly. Murderous intent was taking over him, and he suddenly found himself agitated—and furious too, furious that this vampire had already met the true death.

"That's the worst part," whispered Sasha. Tears began to fall again. "H-he didn't go after me, not directly. Her name was Emma Nguyen. She was like a little sister to me, and she was so, _so good,_ Eric,"

"S-she was th-thirteen," sobbed Sasha. "Th-thirteen a-and the on-ly mercy h-he showed her was _killing_ her. He brutalized her, and h-he, he terrorized her,"

A wail cracked through the air and she covered her mouth with her hands, shaking as she cried. Eric sighed, drawing her into his chest. His fingers returned to her hair.

"Sasha—"

"H-he made her call me before he started," Sasha said when she'd recovered a little. Tremors still rocked through her in the form of silent sobs. "He made me listen to her cry and scream and beg for him to stop, beg for me to save her… then when s-she realized no one was coming to save her…she begged him to kill her,"

Voice hollow, she continued. "By the time we traced the call, he was gone. He left her body for me to find. Even if I'd been selfish enough, cruel enough to have her turned…well, there's only so much even vampire blood can heal,"

"It wasn't your fault," said Eric. "You can't—"

He broke off at her unexpected laugh. It was so bitter and dark hecouldn't fathom how it had come from the Sasha Buckley he had come to know.

"But it is. First it was my fault because I already had all of the documents all the information before he'd even started killing. But I didn't notice, I didn't _think_ to put it all together. Then it was my fault because I didn't stop it fast enough, because I didn't save Emma. And then, after he left, I started digging," said Sasha. "There hadn't been any killings for so long, and it was because he was dormant—and now, now I _know_ it's my fault,"

Eric frowned. "Sasha there's no way it could be your fault—"

"Stop saying that!" she exclaimed. "Because it was! He'd—he'd stopped, he hadn't killed anyone in decades and then—he told me tonight. He told me if I hadn't come along when I did, I triggered him, but he couldn't have me because, because everyone would know, so he _settled_ for those other little girls—"

She broke off. "My fault,"

"Sasha, how old were you when you came to the nest?"

"Eleven, twelve," she admitted. He reached out for a tear stuck to her bottom lash. It landed on his thumb, and he brought it between his lips.

Pure, utter anguish. Bitterness. Anger. Desolation.

"This is why you came to Louisiana?" asked Eric.

"This is why I was _passing through_ Louisiana," muttered Sasha. "I guess Bartholomew still has friends in California. When I left someone tipped him off, and he started tracking me. He said—he said he gave me his blood a long time ago. And I was so worried Eoin was the one looking for me, to drag my ass home,"

Eric watched her. Her lashes, normally so long and fluttery, were clumped together by tears and ruined mascara. Make up was smudged just under her eyes where he'd missed it earlier. She was, he could see, emotionally spent. She was a smart girl and, Eric thought, cunning enough to be an opportunist. She knew the vampire system well enough to play it, but he was absolutely convinced that this was no performance. This girl was heartbroken, and she was not attempting a sob story to cover her up the fact that she'd staked a vampire.

Still, she had broken vampire law. The history she had with Bartholomew would grant her a trial at the very least, and despite numerous vampires wanting her head, Eric thought she'd have enough vampire support from the vampires in California. He didn't know much about the Californian monarch, but if King Jakande chose to lend his support, her chances of coming away from this unscathed were good.

"What am I going to do with you, Sasha Buckley?"

"You should arrest me," said Sasha. "You shouldn't have gotten involved,"

"I know," sighed Eric. "But I did."

* * *

 **Okay so this one was definitely a heavy one! That bathtub scene featuring gentle!Eric was necessary for both my sake and Sasha's LOL. I meant to update much earlier (esp. after that cruel cliffhanger) but I ended up getting hired and having The Take Home Midterm From Hell and it just wasn't feasible.**

 **A big hello and welcome to new reviewers and followers! I appreciate every single one of you, and keep the reviews coming. I pull them out to read constantly and they keep me so motivated when I start to doubt the story or get stuck! I put so many hours into this, it's nice seeing the work appreciated and constructive criticism helps a lot too!**

 **Ellie : Thanks for pointing out the sp mistakes! I posted that chapter admittedly before my usual reread bc I was too eager, and too exhausted. I will fix mistakes and update for future readers.**

 **Liza : Always a pleasure, Liza. Yes, the dance between Eric and Sasha seems about endless, thought it appears Eric has the upper hand now. And as far as King Jakande, well... :)**

 **Se7en : haha Mimi is awful in a great way! Hopefully we'll see more of her in the future, and you can make up your mind on her then ;)**


	14. Chapter 14

***this chapter is subject to some editing/change in the future. Read on or wait for next update, more info in author note at end of chapter.**

 **Chapter 14: Compromise**

It was very probable that Sam Merlotte's bungalow had never seen such an eclectic collection of people, much less so many vampires. Sasha was already sick of it. She just wanted to shut her eyes and sleep, maybe slip into a coma—she just wanted not to be conscious for a while. She wanted her brain turned off, leaving no room for thoughts or dreams.

"And _you_!" accused Eoin, wielding around and jamming a pale finger in Mimi's direction. "Your legs opened and—surprise, surprise—so did that fat gob of yours!"

If Mimi could have flushed, she might have. Instead she batted his finger away, her thin lips curling in a flat out sneer. Her eyes flashed and her pale blonde hair shimmered orange beneath the dim light fixture anyway be.

"Fuck off your high horse, Eoin. I didn't say anything that wasn't true, and nothing that Pamela wouldn't have eventually figured out. If anything, you should be thanking me!"

"Thanking you? Are you out of your bloody mind?"

"Think about it. With what I said–and I didn't say much, a smart vampire would take caution not to fuck around with a king's _favorite_. They will back off. I don't know Northman, but I know his reputation. And I _know_ Pamela. She's cautious. She's smart. She'll be his voice of reason, know not to get involved."

"Know not to get involved?" Roared Eoin.

"Please, Eoin, the humans," reminded James. The Irishman shot him a glare, but when he spoke next, it was quieter. He gestured to where Sasha was sitting wrapped up in an unfamiliar quilt. The night–was it really still night–was something of a daze to her still. She was exhausted in every way a person could be. Her head was still switching around pieces of the night questioning them–had she really taken a bath with a–no, _the_ Viking?–and she just wanted to sleep.

"Does the fucking Sheriff of Area Five stepping in to cover up the fact she staked a vampire in the backyard of a king–during his coronation no less–sound like being fucking uninvolved to you, Mimi?"

Sasha flinched at the mention on the staking: her hand twitched with the memory of the feeling of the wooden spoon handle nicking bone and flesh and heart giving way to the death she delivered.

"What are the chances that this Sheriff, Northman, has ulterior, sinister motive?" asked James "We might consider her acted as a friend to her, in her best interest."

"Ha!"

"I don't think Eric's a problem," piped up Jack. He was still next to Sasha, holding her hand. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles onto the back of her hand. Then, to her, he said "He took good care of you, right?"

Sasha met the newborn's eyes. He was smiling encouragingly at her, squeezing his fingers around hers. He was trying so hard to reassure her and be there for him, to be as strong for her as she'd been for him.

"Eric's not the problem," said Sasha. Her face dropped into her hands, fingers digging into her temples. "He's not exactly friendly with the new King, and he took a risk in what he did for me,"

"A risk," repeated Eoin. "That's not the type of bloody risk you take for a stranger, Sasha. _Northman_ _knows_ ,"

"No."

Mimi's eyes turned to her, filled with interest. For years she'd wanted to know the Big Secret revolving around Sasha. Just as they all had at the nest, she knew that there had to be something special about the girl, something that explained why she was so precious to the king. But only Eoin seemed privy to that information. James at least had the sense to respect that the information was need-to know, and though he too was often curious, refrained from prying.

"Perhaps we ought to give you two some privacy," he suggested now, sensing the topic bubbling forward.

"Unnecessary," said Sasha. "Eric doesn't know. He just did what he did because…because he's not, he's not _bad_ ,"

 _Eric was silent as he drove her across town. Sasha had barely been aware of stepping out of the bathtub, if the water had been hot or if it had been cold, how long it had been since she'd been dressed and whisked away from that house and wrapped in the homemade quilt. She absently pulled at the hem of the sundress. It was yellow and empire waist; she'd only noticed because Eric had stared at her for a long moment and then declared it didn't suit her._

 _"I don't have to tell you that the less others know about what happened tonight, the better it is for the both of us," said Eric. They were the first words he'd spoken since they'd left the big yellow house. Someone—probably Pam—had brought his car around to the front of the house they'd washed up in._

 _"I know," she whispered._

 _"This is, technically speaking, my territory still," continued Eric. "Given the circumstances, I've chosen to pardon your actions as self defense,"_

 _"Because they were,"_

 _"Yes," said Eric, somewhat impatiently. He shot her a long sideways glance. "You also know other vampires might consider that trivial detail in the face of a human staking a vampire. As I said, this is my territory, and this is my judgment. But given relationship with Bill—_ King Compton— _if he were to suspect I…"_

 _He went quiet for so long that Sasha looked over at him. Eric pulled up into the driveway of the bungalow and turned the ignition off._

 _"Eric?"_

 _"If Compton—or any other vampire, for that matter—were to mistake my motivations for sparing you a trial and report something more than what they were, it would not bode well for either of us, understand?"_

 _Sasha didn't understand. Her brow creased as she frowned—Eric had done what he had done because it was the right thing to do. He might be arrogant because of his status as a thousand year old vampire, but she didn't think he was one of those vampire elitists that would always consider humans as second-class citizens no matter the crimes a vampire committed against them._

 _"I—I don't understand,"_

 _Eric sighed loudly, running a hand through his hair in frustration, sending his blond locks spiking every which way._

 _When his eyes turned on her, they were burning blue liquid fire. "If Compton finds out about my decision to spare you punishment or at the very least a trial as protocol calls for in this circumstance, he might interpret my kindness for some measure of affection for you. Now do you understand?"_

Oh. _Yes, Sasha did understand. Eric worried that Bill Compton might try to use her against Eric if he found out about all this, thinking that she meant something to Eric._

 _"Not to mention your King," added Eric. His eyes flicked away from her, and his jaw hardened. I don't' know how jealous a vampire King Jakande is, nor why he isn't keeping a tighter grip on what's his, but I'd rather not end up on his shit list, too."_

 _Sasha's frown deepened. "You won't. I'll tell him what you did for me,"_

 _"Probably best you don't," muttered Eric._

 _"But—"_

 _"It's better this way," said Eric. His hand reached out to tuck a few of her wet curls behind an ear. His fingers stayed on her jaw, ghosting over her bottom lip with surprising tenderness. "I apologize if I've crossed any boundaries. If I'd known you were his—well, I understand why you were unwilling to admit you were claimed all this time."_

 _"You really don't," muttered Sasha. Eric cocked his head to the side, considering this for a moment. Then he stepped out of the car and had her door open before she could even reach for the door handle. She stepped out, and as she did he told her he could hear her friends driving towards them. Eric walked her to the front door._

 _"You should go back to him," said Eric. "It wouldn't be wise to stick around here,"_

 _Was she imagining his regret?_

 _He had it all wrong, of course. Sasha opened her mouth to explain as much, that she didn't belong to King Jakande in the way he thought, but a car rolled down the street towards them, the headlights bathing them in bright light._

 _"Take care of yourself, Sasha Buckley."_

"He's not bad?" repeated Eoin, stirring her from her reverie. See, this has always been your problem. Your blind faith of my kind. It makes you stupid, and it'll get you your throat ripped out one of these days!"

"All right, let's all think before we speak, shall we?" interjected James, throwing a stern look Eoin's way. Sasha's hand crept up to her neck. Her skin was smooth, though it still ached something fierce. Eric Northman had willingly given his blood to her. He'd been prepared to let her drink for him, to create a connection between them in an effort to save her life, to heal her totally.

"James, mate, fuck off. I know you care about her, but you have no fucking clue what's at stake here," snapped Eoin. James' mouth shut and he sighed in frustration, turning away.

"No need to get pissy with James," said Mimi. "We all care about little Sasha in our own ways, your stupid secrecy be damned. Our girl's alive and well, considering, yeah? So _you_ fuck off, Eoin and be glad she's around to breathe another day, all right?"

"Don't give me your fucking 'we all care' bullshit, Madeline. The only reason you're even here tonight is because you're still serving penance for your _model behavior_ when it came to her," said Eoin,

 _"Stop,"_ said Sasha. The fog in her head was clearing up a bit now, a dry forest being consumed by wildfire. "You mean well, I know, but I'm not in the headspace to do this right now with any of you. What happened tonight was no one's fault but Bartholomew's Mimi didn't say anything Eric wouldn't have found out eventually. I'm alive, Eric's not going to sell me out. What will happen is this: you three are going back to California, and you're taking Jack with you,"

"You're not coming?" asked Jack. "After what happened?"

"No," said Sasha. "I left for a reason, and just because Bart's dead, it doesn't mean what he did is dead with him,"

Eoin's jaw ticked. She saw the fight in him rise—he was very much opposed. He turned to Mimi. "Help the newborn get his things, eh?"

"I don't need help— _oh_ ," Jack fell silent at the Irishman's glare. He led James and Mimi to his room, the fair blonde going reluctantly at James's urging.

Sasha stood and walked over to the kitchen, opening the fridge. She pulled out a bottle of water and uncapped it, taking a long sip. The cold water felt heavenly on her parched throat.

"So you're still going wherever the hell you were headed before?" asked Eoin unhappily. "I get the danger's passed, but now there might be a new one. Come back with us, let things settle here,"

"There was a time you couldn't wait to get rid of me,"

"Yes, well, things change," said Eoin. "You're a brat, but you're family,"

"I'm not going anywhere. Not yet, not now that I've found…" she trailed off. Eoin groaned.

"This is about the bloody Viking,"

"This has nothing to do with Eric,"

"I doubt that every time you say his name, love," said Eoin. "I saw you two eye fucking each other half the night, but you're smarter than this, Sash,"

"It's not like that,"

"Did he…your neck's healed," said Eoin. He appeared to be dreading the worst.

"Topically," she assured.

"That's some relief, at least," said Eoin. "If he knew what you were, he would have forced his blood down your throat,"

 _No, he wouldn't have_ , she thought stubbornly. Sasha shook her head, fingering the cap of the water bottle in her hands. She glanced at Jack's door, then switched to Irish. " _It's about family,_ "

" _I don't follow_ ,"

" _My grandmother is here in town,_ " she said quietly. " _Well, her ghost is. I've spoken to her,_ "

Eoin swore. " _Here? What are the odds that of all—it wasn't a coincidence that you got stranded here, is it?"_

Sasha shook her head. Her eyes flickered to the door of Jack's bedroom again. Neither Mimi nor James spoke Irish Gaelic, but they were both bound to have picked up something after decades around Eoin. Mimi couldn't be trusted with the information—even if she had no malicious intent towards Sasha—and Sasha hadn't ever shared the truth about her magical nature with James to protect him as much as to protect herself.

" _No,_ " said Sasha. " _But now that I'm here… I think she can teach me,_ "

" _All these years and you have never shown a shred of interest in that. The bloody opposite, actually. Why now?"_

 _"I visited her grave every night,"_ whispered Sasha. " _Every night for thirty…forty…fifty days. I don't know. I lost count. I visited every night, hoping to meet her ghost. To apologize. If I'd known what I was, could control what I am, then maybe…"_

Eoin looked away, raking a hand through his curly hair. " _It's silly, doing that here. Maybe Northman isn't an immediate threat. Maybe this new king is,"_

 _"I know his progeny,_ " said Sasha " _She's good,_ "

" _Did you know he worked for the previous Queen? The one that's gone missing?_ "

" _Every vampire works for their monarch at one point or another,_ " said Sasha, lifting a brow in his direction. " _You should know,_ "  
" _He was her_ procurer _,"_

Sasha stilled. Procurers were common enough, but these days they had an entirely new meaning than what they'd once held. Now procurers were tasked by their monarchs to search for new and exciting blood, to find them the tastiest, most fragrant meals. Centuries ago they'd had the same task, only it was generally understood that they were looking for blood that was something _more_ , blood that did not belong to any human. Back when the world had an abundance of supernatural beings roaming it, and vampires drank from them as fit their fancy.

Beings like Sasha.

"I'll keep that in mind," said Sasha. She understood Eric's caution now more than ever. Jessica might have been alright, but maybe Bill Compton really was a threat.

Sasha touched her hand to his arm. "I'll be careful, Eoin. Promise."

* * *

Sasha Buckley broke her promise just one night later.

Saying goodbye to her nest mates had been a strange blur of hugs and assurances that they'd all be okay. James had her promise she'd call when she needed to talk. Jack had tearfully thanked her for giving him another chance at life and extracted a promise of his own that they'd soon meet again. Mimi had made a lewd joke, uncomfortable with the displays of a affection all around, simply pecking her on the mouth and then flouncing off; Sasha was certain that there had been a touch of guilt in her eyes as she said her quick goodbye. Eoin had watched her worriedly, perhaps able to sense the calm before the storm.

That night, or what was left of it, she'd slept. The sleep had been neither good nor bad, simply an abyss of dreamless consciousness. The next to two nights she hadn't been so lucky.

It was amazing to Sasha how quickly she could spiral from the cool, assured collectedness she'd honed over the years into the walking hot mess she was these days. The last time she had felt this out of control was when she was nineteen and experiencing the collective crash of teenage angst catching up with her with the perils of young adulthood and a general feeling of misdirection. That had been the lethal combination under witch Mimi had taken her under her wing and together they'd wreaked havoc on the night life of Los Angeles—and, occasionally, Paris, New York, and Ibiza after she'd wake up on a light-tight jet after a haze of drinking, Mimi declaring that she'd 'borrowed' her for the weekend.

And the jet. The jet was also typically _borrowed_ , i.e. taken from one of her many human sugar daddies. She never even had to glamour them.

In a way, Sasha felt the way she had in those days. Her brain was foggy and uncooperative half the time, like it was cluttered by too much and constantly assaulted by a massive migraine. At night she hardly slept, when she did she was assaulted by terrifying dreams of death and Bartholomew's cruelness, and when she rose from her bed in the mornings, it was with a heavy head and heart, her eyes bloodshot and her throat sore. But in this case it wasn't from dancing and screaming lyrics to songs she only half-knew in bars all night long; it was from the nightmares.

Bartholomew's death should have stopped those. It should have closed that chapter of her life entirely. But now the dreams were worse and she was hanging onto her sanity by a thread. She wasn't sleeping well, wasn't eating right, and had no clear plan. She said she was going to speak to her grandmother; but she four days after Bartholomew's attack, and she'd yet to go visit her grandmother's ghost. Time was somewhat sensitive, yet she couldn't seem to break out of her cycle of self-pity and misery drinking, finding herself at Merlotte's bar every night and drowning herself in alcohol to try to numb the pain.

* * *

He wouldn't ever admit how pleased he was to find Sasha Buckley still in his territory. But when Sam Merlotte had called the evening three nights after Bill Compton's coronation, Eric's puzzlement had quickly faded into the warm shock of pleasure as the shifter told him he didn't know anyone else to call for the drunken girl sprawled in the corner of his bar.

As he entered Merlotte's, the usual eyes and whispers followed. He ignored them, eyes scanning for his—scanning for the girl. Sasha was sitting in a corner booth, her honey and brown curls falling over her face, a cheek pressed into the glass of the window she sat by. Empty beer bottles littered the table. At the bar, the shifter caught his eye.

"Didn't know who else to call," said Sam, nodding in the direction of the girl. The surprise was still evident in his voice, just as it had been half an hour ago over the phone.

"You did right in calling me," assured Eric. "How long?"

Sam still appeared dubious as he picked up a cloth and began wiping down the bar. "Comes in around seven, reeking of cigarettes. Bags under her eyes. Looking like she's dealin' with a lot. Every night since _Sunday_ ,"

Eric cocked his head to the side, his eyes swiftly returning to the shifter. He couldn't possibly know of what had transpired the night of Bill's coronation, could he? But the meaningful look in his watery blue eyes confirmed that he did. Eric's lip curled; there were those loose ends unraveling already.

"Look, I don't know what you two…" Sam shook his head. "Whatever happened with Sookie, I don't know if you and Bill Compton are responsible or not for what happened with her,"

"You don't honestly believe either of us would have harmed her," Eric said flatly.

"No," admitted Sam. "I know Sook had some…some _baggage_ of her own. But none of it started gettin' out of hand until you two arrived on the scene, either. Sasha seems like a good one; let her go, Eric,"

Eric rolled his eyes—it didn't go unnoticed to him that the shifter was already referring to Sookie Stackhouse in the past tense—and tapped the counter once. "You missed a spot."

He was soon standing over Sasha's table.

"You're a little young for a middle life crisis, wouldn't you say?"

Sasha's head slowly lifted form her hands. He was somewhat shocked by her appearance; Merlotte hadn't exaggerated. The bags under her eyes were enough to rival his undead ones, and her usual bright eyes were, although glassy, dull. Both the green and the gold were murky and heavy. Her shoulders were hunched in, her curls limp.

"Fuck off," she slurred.

"You can do better than that," murmured Eric. Her laugh was broken over a hiccup. Her fingers moved to peel the label of the closest beer. It was still half full.

"Wh'you here?" she asked.

"Sam Merlotte called about a drunkard," he told her.

She snorted. Finally her eyes lifted up to meet his. "And you came running to make sure I didn't say anything I shouldn't?"

 _I wish that were it_.

"Let's go,"

She sighed and reached for the beer, chugging the rest of it. Eric crinkled his nose in distaste. He'd enjoyed beer—or what had passed for beer in his human days—immensely. Now as a vampire he couldn't stand the taste or smell. When the beer bottle was empty Sasha reached for her wallet, leaving a mess of crumpled twenties on the table.

Sasha scooted out of the booth, and he had to wrap an arm around her waist when she stood and teetered dangerously. He led her out of the bar, nodding at Sam when they passed him. He was pleased to see that Jessica Hamby appeared to have the night off and wasn't around to ask pesky questions.

Eric led her straight to her car, prizing the keys from her pocket and helping her into the passenger seat. He was looking forward to driving the cherry red Camaro, and he was quick to get the engine going.

She hadn't buckled herself in, and as he swung them out of the parking lot, she slid across the bench, her head smacking into his shoulder. " _Ow,_ "

"That's why humans wear seatbelts," Eric commented mildly. She _hmphed_ childishly, but she didn't scoot away. Her head fell against his shoulder gently, and she wrapped her arms around his right bicep. Eric's eyes flicked down at her.

"You better not be sick on me," warned Eric. "I mean it, Sasha,"

"It feels like you're doing donuts on the road _and_ driving down th'road at th'same time," she bemoaned. "All tha'beer is making me feel so bloated,"

"Because I am," said Eric. Sasha cracked an eye open, her head lifting a little off his shoulder.

"Liar,"

Eric's lips twitched in amusement. He soon pulled into the short driveway of the little bungalow she was renting. Shutting off the ignition, Eric glanced down at her. There wasn't much to see other than hair.

"Did you fall asleep?"  
"No,"

"Are you planning on sleeping here?"

"No," said Sasha, her voice softer, almost pathetically so. "Can't we just sit here a moment? Or go for a very slow drive"

"What's going on with you?" asked Eric.

Sasha pulled away, and stared up at him for a long moment. He'd never seen her so vulnerable. Eric saw the truth brimming on the tip of her tongue, she was about to tell him everything. Her lips parted—

—and leaned forward and kissed him.

He'd never been so caught off guard. Sasha's lips were soft and hot against his cool ones, sending pleasurable shocks of warmth darting from her mouth and down to his toes. It was hot and sloppy and so sensual he didn't even mind the taste of beer in her mouth. Eric kissed her back eagerly, a hand coming up to cradle her cheek as she all but climbed into his lap in an effort to get closer.

She pulled away to breathe, lips trailing his jaw as her chest rose and fell rapidly.

"Come inside?" Sasha asked, breath trembling.

Eric's jaw clenched, fingers threated through the curls at the back of her neck as he pressed her forehead against his and held her there. He was somewhat dizzy from the shock of her kiss, from his own desire.

"Eric?" she asked, her voice surprisingly timid. He pulled away, pulling her off of him and back onto the bench next to him. She'd managed to be half on top of him in the confines of the car, and he couldn't think with the heat of her lap directly over his.

"No."

"No?" repeated Sasha. "S-so before, you couldn't wait to fuck me because you thought I was somehow _special_ —or was that all just part of the game for you?"

He was somewhat surprised by the extent of her hurt, that she was so stung by his rejection. Was it the alcohol or some underlying insecurity? Was it something more—was it him?

"You're wasted and clearly upset," said Eric. "And I respect you too much for a drunk fuck," he licked his lips. "Even if I do want you," he admitted.

 _Because apparently I'm beyond caring of the king with a claim on you, because when you're around I can only seem to think with my fucking dick._

She held his gaze for a beat—those eyes of hers, though still glazy and a little red from drinking, had regained their usual luster, pupils dilated (had one kiss done that?)—and she finally looked away shyly.

"You want to tell me what getting off with me is supposed to distract you from?" asked Eric. He wasn't under any illusions—this was a textbook unhealthy coping mechanism for humans, drinking themselves into oblivion and then fucking themselves into a different headspace. He couldn't really do the first one, but he was known to do the latter. Often. He'd certainly done a hell of a lot of fucking after Godric's death. More than usual, anyway.

"You have to ask?"

Eric clucked his tongue. "You miss your vampires?"

She finally looked up at him again, eyes narrowing through the fog of desire and beer. The spell was broken. "I _killed_ someone, Eric _,"_

"A vampire," dismissed Eric. "An evil one at that, and out of self defense. Do you really regret your actions?"

"Of course not. But evil or not, he was a person. And he just…exploded."

He considered this for a moment. "You saw Peter die,"

"I didn't kill him. And I didn't know him. Bartholomew, I spent years living with him, knowing him, trusting him—and then _, dead._ He popped like a water balloon and I ended up drenched in Essence au Bartholomew. How fucked is that?"  
Death and killing had been a part of Eric's life since he'd been human. He'd first killed at nine-years-old. He couldn't remember dwelling on the fact for long, even as a child. He had acknowledged he had done what needed to be done. That had been his life. And maybe Sasha Buckley lived in a very different time and society, but she'd grown up in a nest. Could death really be so traumatic a concept for her?

"I thought you were tougher than this. You sound so, so—"

"Human?" Sasha asked sharply. "The very thing you keep reminding me I am?"

"Fair enough." Eric scraped his teeth over his bottom lip. "What are you still doing here in Bon Temps? I thought you couldn't wait to get away,"

Sasha shrugged. "Trying to plan my next move,"

Eric shook his head. "You're lying to me,"

"Am not,"

"Fine," smirked Eric. "You're withholding,"

"Why do you always have to know everything?" she grumbled. "I should get to bed,"

"I'm sorry it's alone," said Eric. Her eyes skipped to him, and she shook her head. "That was probably a good call,"

They stepped out of the car, Eric walking her up to the front door. She unlocked the door, but she paused, turning back to face the tall Viking.

"Thank you," she told him. "And thank you, for the other night. I don't think I ever actually said that,"

There were a lot of ways he could have answered. With a flippant remark or flirtatious advance. But Eric found himself nodding once. "You're welcome,"

"I'm sorry I um, threw myself at you," she added a little bashfully.

"The pleasure was all mine," said Eric. "Just as long as the King of California doesn't put a price on my head for it,"

He wasn't sure who he was trying to remind—himself or her—of the king.

Sasha frowned at the mention of the monarch.

"Good night, Eric,"

"Good night, Miss Buckley,"

* * *

Her faux pax with Eric Northman at least helped serve as the kick in the teeth she needed to put the bottle down and not to something equally or far more embarrassing that she might regret.

It was the smallest, most inconsequential event of all once compared to the rest, but it was impossible not to think about that kiss. Some days she considered the whole thing with a detached sort of coolness; _Oh well, Sasha,_ she'd tell herself. _So you kissed the guy. Now you now how a Viking kisses_. Then she'd laugh at the sheer disbelief of it all. But on her days where she was most fragile, she'd reflect on the whole event with abject horror, wondering how she was possibly ever to face him again after throwing herself at him in a drunken haze of misery.

 _You climbed onto his fucking lap and practically assaulted him. What the hell is wrong with you?_

And, often, she'd think about how he'd returned her sloppy kiss but ultimately turned down her. Sometimes she felt the sting of that rejection, other times she'd marvel at Eric Northman's character. She stood by what she'd told Eoin nearly a week ago at the bungalow: Eric Northman wasn't bad. And, just maybe, he might be good.

The other eighty-five percent of the time that Eric Northman wasn't occupying her mind, Sasha Buckley found herself trying to work up the courage to go face her grandmother. She didn't know her grandmother well, but she knew that she would have to be honest with her about everything if she was expecting her grandmother to do the same with her, and she had the nagging suspicion that Cookie Montgomery was going to use the opportunity to tell her a big fat _I told you so_.

* * *

"Didn't I tell you so, child?"

Sasha sighed, pushing her sunglasses up to rub at her eyes. They felt raw from lack of sleep. Although she'd finally quit the drinking and felt a little better physically, she still wasn't sleeping well. The nightmares were still there, still strong, and wreaking havoc on her emotionally as well as physically.

"Did you miss the part about the other five vampires that were willing to risk so much to protect me?" Sasha asked with a sigh. She'd finally filled Cookie in on mostly everything, about Bartholomew, about how she'd come to be raised by vampires.

"For their gain, I'm sure,"

"Are you listening to anything I'm saying?" asked Sasha. Cookie gave her a small, sad smile.

"Look, I know you think I'm bad-mouthin' ya family, but _I'm_ your family, baby. Your mother—"

"—left when I was eleven," Sasha reminded her sharply.

Cookie looked away, the lines of her face twisting with unease. She stared out into the tree line of the property for a long moment. "I can't give you answers for her actions. But she loved you from the moment she knew your were in her belly. She dreamed she was pregnant with you, you know,"

No, Sasha didn't know. She stepped over a broken chair, careful not to kick up the dust layering the floor an inch thick. She was aimlessly wandering the broken down manor, trying for more glimpses of what the house had once been like. She was now in the kitchen. So far, she hadn't experienced any more of those strange visions like she had before. Rewinds. She'd taken to thinking of them that way.

"You sound so surprised that my mom left—so why did she? Why are there so many mysteries surrounding my birth? What is the real, honest to God truth?"

"Goddess," said Cookie. When Sasha frowned, Cookie sighed. "The Goddess, our Mother Goddess. That's who we look to for guidance, love, strength. There is so much for you to learn, Sasha,"

"Yeah, I'm not so sure I want to learn all that. There are things I want to know about our family, but I feel no inclination to become a fully practicing witch. I want my powers managed, I want to know how to use them if I ever need to, but that's it."

"And you think staying in the dark is going to be any better?" Cookie asked skeptically. "You have got to be smarter than that, child. There is always going to be something after you—if it ain't a vamp, it'll be something else. Power calls to power, always. You can't hide forever. And magic—it ain't something you can pick and choose, baby. It's all or nothing,"

"I can try," Sasha said quietly. "I like my life. I was happy before all the death in it. And I know how crazy it sounds, but up until Bartholomew went off the deep end, before I ever stumbled upon Bon Temps, even with all of the vampires in it, my life was pretty damn normal,"

"You have a responsibility, Sasha. Think of your children, and theirs," said Cookie.

"My _what_?" asked Sasha, lifting a brow.

"When you have kids some day—"

"That's a pretty big _if_ —"

Cookie frowned, and Sasha almost felt bad. It was just so difficult talking to this woman, because it brought forth the years of deeply buried resentment. "Child, listen here. You are the last of our line, and one of the last trueborn blood witches anywhere. If you don't have children, the magic inside you will die with you. All that we are, all that we were, that magic, blood, heritage…gone. Extinguished. Are you telling me you'd turn your back on centuries of heritage?"

"I don't even know that I want children," said Sasha. "I'd first have to have someone around to actually want to have kids, and that's definitely not happening any time soon,"

Cookie eyed her skeptically. "Well say you do have children. What are you going to do when their powers come in? You know from your own experience what growing up without at least knowing how to control that power inside you feels. You want to subject your children to the same thing?"

Sasha shifted uncomfortably. She would never wish such a thing on anyone. She fumbled with the ring on her finger. She'd never given much thought to having children, just as she'd never stopped to envision herself with a husband at her side. Although Sasha fantasized about family often, she always pictures herself as someone's daughter, someone's sister. Never as someone's mother or someone's wife. _Especially_ not someone's mother, not when there was always that chance that she could become vampire.

"Can you just tell me who I am? Please?"

Cookie sighed. "I wish your mother was here, if only so she could explain herself. I haven't seen her since you were four,"

"And that was here?"

"Yes," said Cookie. "You were born in this house, November 1st 1985," She paused to consider Sasha. Sasha was staring hard at the ground, somewhat stunned by this revelation.

"Why would my parents lie about where and when I was born?" she asked.

"For protection," said Cookie. "I suggested they change your birthday on your birth certificate. November 1st is a powerful day for us witches, and anyone that knows what to look for might come to suspect you because of it. Records are a dangerous thing for people like us,"

"But why lie to _me_?" insisted Sasha. "Don't I have a right to know?"

"That I can't answer. You'd have to ask your parents," said Cookie. "I never was a fan of your father, but he always did love you. He will tell you the truth, if you want to know it,"

Sasha snorted. She didn't want to talk about her father, much less talk _to_ him. And not about her magic. Knowing him, he'd be even less inclined. He liked to pretend that part of her didn't exist at all.

"So I was born here," said Sasha. "How long was I here for?"

"You grew up in this house for the first few years of your life," said Cookie. She had a fond smile on her features as she remembered. "Oh look, the house remembers, too,"

Before Sasha could ask what her grandmother meant, a peel of laughter caught her attention. Another Rewind. Like on that first day, the house transformed before her eyes, whole once more. A little girl, no older than three or four, went toddling past the kitchen door, giggles streaming behind her as she trotted along. Sasha followed. The little girl ran, naked, down the porch steps, and into the drive, her hair curls long and wet against her back and shoulders.

Sasha let out an astonished laugh as she watched her toddler-self bound around the front yard.

"Sasha Rose if you don't get back here—!"

Sasha watched in astonishment as the woman she had not laid eyes on in over a decade stepped out of the house.

Aliyah Montgomery looked every bit as beautiful as Sasha remembered. Her dark skinned shone with a deep, warm inner light—the kind only magic could give—as did her stunning chocolate eyes. Her Afro framed her head like a curly black crown, and despite the shout of warning she had called out, she was grinning ruefully as she put her hands on her curvy hips. She looked like a queen, Sasha thought. She'd always carried herself with regal composure.

"Didn't I say no magic without supervision, Miss Sasha?" reprimanded her mother. Sasha looked back to the little toddler memory-version of herself. She was laughing, at least until she began hiccupping. Then a rainbow of bubbles burped out of her mouth. For a moment the little Sasha stared at the bubbles in complete wonder. Then they popped and she laughed, releasing another round of unnaturally colored bubbles.

"Sweet Goddess, I am _never_ going to be able to send that girl to school!" lamented her mother. A memory-Cookie appeared beside her, grinning.

"She's a powerful little thing," she agreed. "Even you weren't so powerful at this age. She's a natural. She'll do great things."

"That's all well and good, mama, but it's not exactly safe," said Viera. She began fretting. "I think I should bind her powers. My husband can hardly deal with what we are, and she's never going to fit in,"

"You worry too much about the wrong things," said Cookie. "She's still a child. We'll teach her, together. And you never have to to worry about exposure here. I've got the wards up and running, always. You know that,"

"It's not humans I'm worried about, mama," murmured Viera. She sighed. "Humans are only worrisome because of their numbers. They get less observant about the supernatural world as the years go on, taken over by their so-called _logic and science_. I worry about the rest of us—witches, wolves—Vampires. I was thinking of binding her powers,"

"Absolutely not! No grandbaby of mine is going to have their powers bound! I understand you worry, Viera, and you're scared. But this is not the way. Promise you me you won't do it," insisted Cookie.

On the front lawn, little Sasha fell to the grass on her stomach, her eyes trained on a fluffy white rabbit that had hopped into the yard. She watched it silently in awe as it hopped closer. On the porch, the memory-versions of her mother and grandmother grew tenser.

"Mama," Viera whispered tersely. "You live in the shadow of a powerful vampire—a vampire Sheriff. If Northman ever finds out about my daughter—"

"He won't," said Cookie. "Eric Northman will never find out about Sasha, not while I'm alive. We will keep her safe, especially from vampires…"

The memory slowly faded into nothingness, and Sasha was now left staring at an empty yard, darkened by the setting sun. Not only had it been jarring seeing her young self, but seeing her mother…Sasha didn't know what to feel. And Eric—

Sasha spun around to face her Cookie. Her ghostly grandmother stared back impassively.

"You know Eric," accused Sasha. "Why didn't you say that before?"

"It's not a story I like tellin'," said Cookie. "Or thinkin' about,"

"I was honest with you," reminded Sasha. "Now it's your turn,"

* * *

 **Hi guys! Massive apology that it's been a month since my last update! I haven't given up on this story, I just haven't had the time to dedicate to this that I wanted. This chapter will likely be updated further (the flow and content is a little off, not to mention grammar, possibly) but I wanted to get this out for you guys. If I haven't been at my new job I've been in school or attempting to catch up on sleep, and this resulted in a pretty brutal writer's block derived from mental and emotional exhaustion. I'm overcoming that a little more slower than I'd like, but it's surely happening!**

 **THEY FINALLY KISSED. KIND OF. Does it count if Sasha was drunk and unhealthily coping? Lol. Have I ever mentioned I adore Eric?**

 _Guest:_ **Sorry that you kept checking with no update! *Should* be another chapter up tomorrow! Pray for me lol**

Liza: **Yeah, Bartholomew is absolutely disgusting and terrible; and it'll mess with Sasha for sure.**


	15. Chapter 15

**_Chapter 15: Affinity_**

It was somewhat shocking to Sasha Buckley how quickly things returned to normal. With a lot of patience and hard work on part of both she and her grandmother, they came to an understanding. Sasha agreed to keep an open mind about magic and her heritage as she learned the basics of controlling the power inside of her, and she was to remain dedicated to her studies in witchcraft. In turn, Cookie Montgomery would tell her what she knew about the mysterious circumstances surrounding her birth and first few years of life.

Of course, that wasn't to say that things were _normal_ in the typical sense of the word. Sasha was once again hitting the books, and although the act of studying—even if it was witchcraft—was familiar and therefore soothing to her, the subject matter was not. Cookie stressed the importance of both the practice and theory of magic, and it was all quickly proving to be much more difficult than she'd anticipated.

An entire month between her encounter with Bartholomew passed before Cookie decided she was ready to cast her first spell. While she hadn't been eager to get to magic, Cookie's constant warnings that magic was hard, that it would likely be years before she could hone and control her skill, made her double her efforts. Sasha might have been a Scorpio, but she had the heart an Aries, and immediately felt the need to prove herself a quick study at the unspoken challenge.

September's end brought cooler temperatures and clearer skies, marking Sasha's second month in town. By now, the locals had more or less accepted her as an odd fixture in town for the foreseeable future, having labeled her as a hopeless fangbanger. Jason had sympathetically explained that as far as the residents of Bon Temps were concerned, her car had broken down and she'd met Eric Northman, notorious vampire, and gone so gaga for him on the spot she'd decided to stick around and pursue him. Sasha had wanted to argue that such a thing was ridiculous; then she remembered Ginger from Fangtasia, and had resigned herself to the label.

Even if she hadn't even seen Eric in weeks.

"I just- _achew!_ —don't see what the point of any of this is. I wouldn't even know where to begin," insisted Sasha. She rubbed at her nose in annoyance; despite the thorough cleaning of the attic of Montgomery Manor, she hadn't stopped sneezing and sniffling since she'd made her way up the hazardous stairs.

The attic had been the most well preserved room of the house. Well, mostly; she'd screamed the first time she'd come up when her foot had gone through a moldy and termite ridden patch of floorboard. But compared to the rest of the decrepit house, it was remarkably well preserved, though dusty and cobwebbed. Sasha had thrown a fit at the sight; she could deal with a lot, but not spiders. She'd refused to spend another second in the attic, much less the house, without it being thoroughly cleaned out. Cookie had countered with a fit of her own, going on and on about there being no time to waste. Sasha had reminded her grandmother that she was dead and therefore not prone to allergies and spider bites; Cookie had grudgingly watched her spend an entire weekend go through the attic and some of the downstairs, cleaning and repairing what she could.

One of the attic's faces was entirely comprised of a window, it's stained glass creating a depiction of sprawling flowers and vines. The center of the room had a large oak table, which functioned as the main workspace. Cookie had assigned her a lot of reading, and would take hours to quiz her on potion ingredients and their uses, would make her recall entire recipes from memory and come up with ailments or problems and ask Sasha what the best course of magical action was in response. Sasha didn't always enjoy the interrogations, but she did love that table, even if Cookie had fondly told her that she'd taught her mother her first spell and potion at that table.

"Because, child," Cookie explained patiently. "Every witch has a first spell. She's drawn to it; it says something about her. Usually, these first spells are linked to our Affinities—"

"Affinities?" interrupted Sasha, scouring her brain for it. She recalled coming across the word once or twice in some of the texts and had noted it in her notes as something to further research, but she'd yet to.

"Yes, affinities," said Cookie. "Of all the elements, a witch is always more drawn to one. Earth and Water are the most typical, because we _are_ of water and earth,"

"And Air and Fire?"

"Also possible," said Cookie, though her tone had become dismissive. "Though the former is more likely. Air is far more common than Fire, and that's sayin' something, because Air is rare. Thank the Goddess, because Air Affinities are such…well, _airheads_ ," she said. Sasha giggled, and even Cookie cracked a smile. "And Fire is…destructive, not easy to manage,"

"I can only imagine," admitted Sasha. "Okay, so affinities—usually Water or Earth. Got it,"

"There's a good chance you might be a Water Affinity—many Montgomery women are—but I think you'll be like your mamma: Earth. Though she…she was something else. Your mother was always drawn to Earth, and it to her. She would walk through a field of flowers in the evenin' and they would all open in her direction like she was the very sun," Cookie remembered fondly. "The way your mother was…she had the true markings of power, of being an Elemental. Earth lived in her like the very ground had birthed her insteada me. She was something to behold,"

Sasha's lips twitched and eyes prickled. _Fucking dust_ , she thought to herself angrily. She ran a finger absently over the crinkled edges of the book in her lap. Cookie had directed her to the ancient chest below the window. The lock had sprung open—just as the latch on the attic door had the first day she'd come up—at her touch. Inside the wooden chest, nestled in with the other books and instruments she did not know the name of, was a leather bound book with iron clasps. Vines and spirals were etched into the spiral, and every time she studied the book she noticed more details—minute impressions of animals and flowers in the leather. It was a grimoire, the Montgomery family spellbook.

"What's—what was your Affinity?" asked Sasha. When she wasn't looking right at her grandmother, it was a little difficult to remember she was dead. She certainly knew how to fill up a room with her presence, dead or not.

"Water," Cookie said proudly. "Oooh, you should have seen _me_ , child. I could call the rains with a thought and toss seas with the flick of my hand," Her eyes turned mischievous. "For years I made a profit making ice sculptures—no one could ever figure out just how I could get so much detail into my designs without breaking the ice, without using molds,"

Sasha grinned. "Is that right? And here I thought you'd tell me at some point that our powers aren't for gain, they're only to be used for good,"

Cookie smiled. "Child, our powers, our magic—it's who we are. Our Affinity is a talent, like singing or dancing. If your magic isn't exposed and you harm no one, it's up to you how you use your magic,"

"Huh," said Sasha thoughtfully. That certainly opened up a lot of possibilities—

 _No_ , she though suddenly. _No it doesn't. Don't go there._

"Flip through the book. You'll find a spell that calls to you,"

"But they're not all linked to elements," said Sasha. "This is a spell to find keys,"

Cookie chuckled. "Yes, they might not seem obvious to you now, but they are all linked to elements nonetheless. Spells for memory and spells for finding things—even people—are always linked to Air. You will have to know this, and you will learn. Don't worry,"

Still a bit skeptical, Sasha flipped through the grimoire a little more, waiting to feel some sort of physical tug or special feeling, whatever it was Cookie swore she'd feel.

"Wait. This could be interesting," said Sasha, her task forgotten as her interest was caught. " _Paulatim solem_. Little sun," she translated. Her knowledge of Latin was at least useful. She glanced up at Cookie. "What is it?"

Cookie laughed again, shaking her head. "Not only is that spell incredibly draining, but it is one of the most difficult spells in that book. Even I've never been able to cast it. Never met anyone that could, either."

"But what is it?" asked Sasha, enraptured by the illumination on the page. Carefully painted was a woman—distinguished by her long braid—dressed in a purple robe. She held her hands up above her head, where a gold orb hovered. Sasha leaned in to inspect it closer; real gold was painted onto the page. "Amazing. How old is this book, exactly?"

"Old," Cookie said shortly. "Keep flipping, child,"

"Okay," Sasha said reluctantly, still drawn to the beautiful painting. "But what is it?"

"Essentially, it's the sun," said Cookie. Sasha's jaw dropped, her eyes going wide.

" _What_?"

"Now, not the actual sun, not even a piece of it," said Cookie. "It's a witchlight—pure witch energy that doesn't destroy or heat, only illuminates. But it's as remarkably close to creating your very own personal, sun as you'd ever be able to. Dimmer too, so you won't go blind of course,"

"Amazing. Must be beautiful," said Sasha.

"I suppose," said Cookie. "Though I don't see a use for it. If you need light, a witchlight is far simpler, and far less draining and dangerous to cast—and you must always remember to conserve your power and energy. You can't _use_ the _solem._ I bet you anything Shandra created that spell. She's an ancestor, and was always making up the most frivolous and showy spells imaginable—just because she could. So much power wasted on that woman,"

"How about this?" asked Sasha. She came to a stop on another page. "This could be useful,"

Cookie ghosted over her to a random page and frowned. "The Courage Spell,"

"Is this simple?" asked Sasha.

"Simple enough," admitted Cookie. "Sasha baby, flip to a random page please,"

Sasha shut the book, lightly running her fingertips down the edges of the pages. She came to a stop, and flipped the book back open.

"How To Purify A Home From Evil," read Sasha. "Useful, I suppose,"

"Flip again,"

So she did again.

"To Purge The Heart of Heartache," read Sasha. "There really is a spell for everything, isn't there?"

But Cookie was frowning, staring down at the grimoire like it was deceiving her.

"What's wrong?" asked Sasha.

"Put the book down and go to that armoire over there," said Cookie. Sasha, a little annoyed with the lack of an explanation, did as she was told. She opened the armoire, sneezing again at the release of dust and stale air. "Grab a candle—any candle—and the deck of cards from the middle drawer."

Sasha scanned the shelves in front of her, easily finding the colorful stacks of candles. Some were tall and skinny, others much larger and fatter. She grabbed a short fat candle an enchanting shade of red-orange, then reached into the drawer for the deck of cards. They were much larger than a standard deck, the cards beautifully hand painted and nearly three times the size. The backs were painted midnight blue with silver and gold stars and moons in all phases.

"Bring them here to the table,"

Sasha placed the items on the table, eyes on Cookie. Cookie's lips were pursed as she looked at the candle.

"Want me to light the candle?" asked Sasha.

"No," said Cookie. "Take the ring off, and then choose three cards from the deck at random,"

Sasha glanced down at her ring. She'd known she'd have to take the thing off—part of the deal was that her studies wouldn't stop at just books and reviews, that's she'd learn to actually cast spells and make magic. But taking off what was essentially a safety net scared her. What if she lost control? What if that same light she'd let loose in the graveyard with Jack that night came free?

Or, maybe even worse, what if nothing happened at all? What if all these years of repressing her magic had destroyed it? Was that possible? Was that why it exploded out of her only sometimes, so volatile? Was that why it had failed her that night in the cemetery against Bartholomew, when she'd needed it most?

"Problem?" asked Cookie.  
Sasha swallowed. "Not at all,"

She slipped the ring off her finger and into her pocket for safekeeping, fluttering her naked fingers. Then she shuffled the deck of cards—tarot cards, she was sure—and picked three at random as Cookie had instructed. She laid them face down on the table in front of the red candle, waiting for further instructions.

"Go on. Turn them over, child,"

Sasha turned the first tarot card over, a sense of foreboding filling her. A large man, expression twisted in a great and terrible grin, took up the face of the card. A streaming red cloak flapped in the winds behind him. He held an enormous spear aloft, and great big twisting horns protruded form either side of his head.

"War," she read at the top of the card. She glanced at Cookie; her eyes were unreadable.

She flipped the next card.

A great glittering emerald snake, coiled so that it was eating it's own tail. She knew the symbol from mythology—Plato came to mind.

"Ouroboros,"

The next card. She flipped it and gasped. A fair-skinned man on the left, tall, blonde and blue-eyed. A woman on the right, golden-brown hair curly, one eye gold the other green, her skin dark. Their hands were clasped together.

"The Lovers," Cookie read grimly.

"But, but that looks like—that's _me_ , and that's—how the fuck—"

"It doesn't mean what you think it means," Cookie assured her quickly. "Don't fret, child. It's not good, but it's not what you think it means, either,"

Sasha collapsed onto the only nearby chair. Her legs felt numb, her hands were shaking.

"What is going on?" she asked shakily. "How— _why_ do they look like Eric and I?"

"The cards are blank, Sasha. They paint themselves for whoever they are cast by. That's why they represent you so eerily," explained Cookie. "The good news is that we know your Affinity,"

Sasha glanced back down at the cards, the red candle. Her eyes returned to Aries. Her mouth went dry. "Fire,"

Cookie nodded.

"How am I Fire? You said it was rare, the rarest of them!" accused Sasha. "I live with vampires—holy shit I can't be _Fire_!" she exclaimed. "What do the cards mean?!"

Cookie sighed, coming over to her. She looked like she wanted to put her hands on her to comfort her, but of course that was impossible. "All three of those cards are of the Fire affinity. But there are others, and it is no coincidence that these revealed themselves to you now. Aries,"

Her ghostly finger stopped just short of tapping the tarot card. "God of War. There will be terrible conflict in your future. As a Fire Affinity, you can at least take comfort in knowin' he'll be on your side, but you must have the heart of a warrior,"

"Ouroboros?"

"Ouroboros," continued Cookie grimly. "Can mean a lot of things. Self-fulfillment or self-destruction, the endless cycle of life and death, chaos and creation. It's also the symbol of the infinite. An unsurprising card when your vampires are taken into account, dangerous when the other cards contextualize it,"

They both glanced down at The Lovers. Sasha swallowed thickly; that card unnerved her most of all, with her and Eric's likeness.

"The Lovers…" Cookie sighed. "A most mercurial card. Simply and indisputably, it means that your fates are wrapped up in one another. Your fate is as tied to his as his is tied to you,"

"That, that's not necessarily terrible, right? Not a Harry Potter, neither can live while the other survives type of thing, right?" asked Sasha. Her throat was suddenly dry and uncomfortably tight.

"With War and Ouroboros in the wings, it can only bode ill for you both, my child," Cookie admitted gravely. "As is the case of a Fire Affinity, you have picked the most intense and the most unpredictable cards in the lot,"

"Of course they are," muttered Sasha. She wrinkled the bridge of her nose, feeling an uncomfortable bubble of _something_ welling up inside of her. "How, how accurate are these?"

"Turn the others over without intent, Sasha," said Cookie. Sasha wasn't so sure what the second part meant, but she flipped the stack of cards onto their faces, frowning when she saw that the topmost card was simply black. She moved it off the deck. The next was blank—they all were.

"The cards draw themselves for each individual. It's not chance. They always know, Sasha. I can't stress how important it is that you stay away from Eric Northman," said Cookie. Then, looking sorrier than ever, she added, "And, now more than ever, that you play catch-up baby girl. You've got a lot to learn before this shit storm lands,"

* * *

"Lookin' a little glum there, Miss Sasha,"

It was impossible not to smile when Jason Stackhouse peered into the window of the Camaro, his boyish smile lopsided in the glow of the dying afternoon sun.

"Hey, Jason," she greeted, turning the ignition off. She realized she'd been sitting in place, the car still running though she'd long since parked it. Jason opened the door for her and she stepped out. "How's training going?"

"Real fuckin' good," said Jason. "I'm passing that physical test by a mile. Bet you I'll be Bon Temps most physical deputy yet,"

 _And dumbest_ , Sasha thought fondly. Then, _And also the hottest, no doubt._ Blonds really had never been her type, but it seemed that Louisiana attracted blonds damn near irresistible even to her. And it was difficult not to have a soft spot for Jason Stackhouse. Beyond the unfortunate mess with his sister, the boy was just too damn sweet and likable. He wasn't the sharpest tool in the box, but he more than made up for it with his kindness and all around goodness.

"Glad to hear it, Jason," she told him as he led the way into Merlotte's. "You still haven't taken me up on my offer though, to help you study?" she reminded him. She followed him into the diner—her eyes temporarily strayed to his ass; Bon Temps at least had that going for it. Jason Stackhouse's ass.

Jason got a little shifty at that, mumbling about Hoyt helping him and work and strings of excuses as they found seats at the bar. Sasha took this to mean that he was still worried about the written exam and he was coping with it by not thinking about it at all.

"So what's up with you? You looked real deep in thought back there," said Jason. Sasha let out a little laugh—what _wasn't_ up with her? She hated Bon Temps more than ever now, despite having struck up a few shallow friendships with some of its locals. But she was now irrevocably tied to it. Between Bartholomew, the knowledge that Bon Temps was also her true birth place, and her 'lessons' with her dead grandmother…she wasn't exactly in supply of warm fuzzy feelings in general, much less for the thrice-cursed town. And earlier in the day, with the creepy tarot cards and revelations?  
Fuck future-destiny crap, and fuck being a Fire Affinity.

"Just, you know, girl stuff," she said off-handedly. Jason made a face.

"I know what you mean—Sook would always…" Jason frowned, staring hard at the bar top. "She—she always…"  
Seeing him struggle for words—for his slip of the past tense—she knocked her shoulder with his, putting on her most friendly smile. "I'm sorry, I'm in a crap mood. You here for lunch? Because I'm starving,"

Jason accepted the change of topic easily, shooting her a grateful smile of his own. "So you got any plans for the day?"

"Just gonna carb-load here and then indulge in some therapeutic shopping," _And then go shopping for potion ingredients that my dead grandma has been nagging me to go buy. You know, the usual stuff._

"Yeah?" grinned Jason as Sam came around to them. "Burgers?"

"Please,"

"What can I get you guys?" asked Sam, coming over to them. Though Sasha had since come into Merlotte's, she and Sam hadn't taken the chance to talk, and she'd go as far as saying that they were both avoiding the other. She didn't want to explain Bartholomew, and he didn't want to get into it about what he was—a shapeshifter. As intrigued as she was—he was the first shifter she'd ever met, knowingly anyway, she knew it would be useless to pry for information she was unwilling to divulge herself.

"Beer," said Jason. "You too, Sash?"

"Lemonade is fine," she said off-handedly. Sam shot her a look as if to say, _good choice_ , and then went to grab their drinks.

To Sam, Jason called out, "So I heard the big, tall, freaky one was in here the other night. What the hell did his Blondness want?"

Sasha snorted, belatedly realizing that Jason was talking about Eric Northman, that 'the other night' was nearly a month ago. _His Blondness? Ha!_

"Wouldn't let him hear you call him that," muttered Sam.

"What did he want? Was it about Sook?" asked Jason, frowning.

"No, not about your sister, Jay," said Sam sympathetically. His eyes strayed to Sasha for a moment. "I uh, I called him,"

"You called him? How come?"

"Because I was drunk off my ass," admitted Sasha.

"No shit," swore Jason. "Why the hell he call that vamp for you?" Then his face fell. "Oh, don't tell me y'all are fuckin',"

"Jason!" protested Sam as Sasha's cheeked heated up. "Watch your damn mouth,"

"Well? Are you?" insisted Jason, ignoring Sam's admonishment.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm—we're not," said Sasha. "He was just, just helping me out,"

Jason didn't look convinced. But what was she supposed to say? She wouldn't call Eric a friend, not after what Cookie had told her. She still wasn't sure what to do with the information that the woman had presented her with—any of it.

The way Cookie told it, Eric had appeared on her doorstep one evening more than twenty-years ago. She'd barely had enough time to cast a spell to dampen the force of her own aura to hide how truly powerful she was (a spell Cookie promised to teach her so she could stop wearing her ring) before the vampire had come a-knocking. Despite her familiarity with the longevity of vampires, it was strange to think that Eric, just as he was now, had known her grandmother.

 _Cookie Montgomery's eyes flew open. A woman had appeared in her dream: her mother, deceased some twenty years previous. It had been a long time since her mother had appeared to her; for ghosts that had passed on, it was rare that they returned to the living. It was difficult to pass the barrier between death and life when they'd moved on, and the veil was thinnest only at certain times of the year, such as at Samhain. Tonight was not Samhain, and yet the second that Cookie stood from her bed, she knew that this was no dream._

 _Her mother, appearing to her with wild eyes, had warned, "Something wicked this way comes!"_

 _It was a warning they'd use when her mother had been living, when Cookie had been a little girl, and she knew its intent immediately. Danger._

 _She stepped out of bed, drawing her house robe around her tightly. As she left her room and headed for the stairs, she paused by her granddaughter's bedroom door. Thank the Goddess that she'd gotten sick that morning, and so her daughter had kept her home. Or, perhaps, it wasn't a coincidence at all. The Goddess was always watching over them in strange ways._

 _The doorbell rang just as Cookie made it to the landing below. Her foot hovered over the final step, just over the thick maroon rug, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She struggled to quiet the hammering of her heart in her ribcage, knowing that whatever happened now, she must keep her family's secret, must be strong against whatever sinister thing was behind that door._

 _Cookie answered the door with a look of forced confusion._

 _"Evenin'," she greeted._

 _Vampire. It was a vampire that stood on her doorstep, that much was unmistakable. He was unlike most she had encountered over the years. He was devastatingly handsome, even if Cookie thought his hair was a bit too long, and he had been able to cross the wards she had placed on the property: he was incredibly powerful, which also meant incredibly old._

 _He cocked his blond head in her direction, blue eyes wandering over her briefly._

 _"Evening," he mocked in turn. "Collette Montgomery?"_

 _"I am she," answered Cookie. "And who might you be?"_

 _"Eric Northman," said the vampire, offering her an patronizing smile. "Won't you invite me in?"_

 _"No, I do not think I will," said Cookie. "I don't have the habit of inviting strange_ men _into my home, much less in the night,"_

 _"Fair enough," countered Eric Northman. He rolled his shoulders back, his posture falling into the lazy gait of a proud lion. "I have other matters I'd prefer to attend to, so let's both cut the bullshit. I know what you are, and you know what I am. What you might not know is that I happen to be the new current Vampire Sheriff of Area 5. Your property, Miss Montgomery, happens to be in my Area,"_

 _Cookie's blood ran cold._

 _"I—"_

 _"You'll find it in your interest to hold your tongue when I speak," said Eric, eyes flashing. Cookie's blood boiled, the magic in her veins hissed at his insult, but she managed to remain calm outwardly, lest she provoke him._

 _"My predecessor, may he rest in peace," Eric said, his tone once again mocking. "Kept a list of those suspected to be witches. He was a… particularly paranoid individual. Now, we all know that the kind of witchcraft that might concern my kind is all but extinct. However, your name has a place on that list,"_

 _Cookie's heart clenched. "Your wards…." Eric glanced over his shoulder, to the drive from which he'd walked up. There was no other car there, just her old Jeep. "Though intriguing, are weak. I sense no true power from you, though I suspect you possess more than this new trend of so-called Wiccans,"_

 _"Listen here,"_

 _Eric's eyes flashed with something dangerous, something feral. Hi fangs sank deliberately slowly from beneath his upper lips, causing her gasp. "No,_ you _listen here. I am not bothered with the trivialities of your kind. If anything, I can look upon the demise of true, great witches with some…regret…for the part my kind played. So practice your Craft, your religion. I don't care. However, should I hear wind of mass gatherings, of—" Eric Northman broke off in a sardonic laugh. "—of some sort of_ witch uprising _, then I will slaughter you all faster than you can cast. So if you mind your own business, me and mine will do the same. Unless…"_

 _"Unless?" repeated Cookie._

 _Eric's hands ran over the frame of the door that separated them, then hovered over the invisible barrier that prevented him from entered her home._

 _"Unless you'd like to make a deal,"_

 _"A deal?" Cookie said in disbelief._

 _"I am a powerful friend to have, Miss Montgomery. Useful in a…number of ways," he said deliberately. "Favors in exchange for a spell here or there,"_

 _Cookie's face hardened. "I will not whore myself out to you, vampire. I am repulsed by your kind, and your very presence insults me!"_

 _Eric's smirk turned faintly surprised. Cookie quickly reigned I her fury._

 _"However, you will find that I am not very sociable. There will be no Wiccan gatherin's from me, no uprisin's. I will go on as I have—pretending your kind don't exist,"_

 _The vampire looked a little disappointed, but he dipped his head._

 _"Very well. If, however, you change your mind,"_

 _Eric held out a business card. For a moment his hand was there, holding the card—then he was gone, out of sight, and the card fluttering to the ground. Cookie stood her ground for a long time, watching, waiting. It appeared he had truly gone._

 _She picked up the card. Black, with blazing red writing:_ FANGTASIA, The Bar With A Bite.

"Look, Sasha, I don't know you real well, and you don't know me. But trust me—stay as far away from that vampire as you can. You're just lookin' for trouble otherwise,"

"Eric Northman's probably not the worst out there," said Sam. Even Jason turned up an eyebrow at that. "If you can count him as an ally, then he's certainly not the worst. But Jason's right; the further you can get from any of this, the better,"

"Yeah, yeah I've been getting that," murmured Sasha. She pictured the tarot cards in her head as clear as day. Maybe she was fated for disaster, maybe she could be spared. But even Eric Northman's pretty face wasn't worth finding out which.

 _It is a very pretty face, though_ , Sasha thought wistfully. It annoyed her thinking that way, but with the foggy memory of his lips on hers, her attraction to him was stronger than ever. It was, after all, flattering and empowering knowing that a being like Eric Northman wanted to sleep with her, even if she knew the chances of him losing interest in her after that were high. Sasha was no stranger to being desired—but never had she been wanted by someone like _him_.

 _Because there is no one like him,_ Sasha reminded herself. It was a little funny, the urge she had to sleep with him rivaled the urge her inner historian had to sit him down with her trusty a camera and interview his fine Viking ass. And it didn't help that the last time she'd been intimate with a many had been…over a year ago now. Wow.

But the cards and what Cookie had told her would give her strength to stay away from the enigmatic vampire.

"You doin' anything for Halloween night?" asked Jason. She was grateful for the change of subject; doom and gloom and Eric Northman was just a little much right now.

"No, I don't," said Sasha. "Don't tell me: you need a chaperone for trick or treating?"

"Real funny," said Jason. "We're having a costume themed karaoke night here at Merlotte's,"

"What now?" asked Sam. "How's this the first I'm hearin' of it?"

"I don' know," shrugged Jason. "Arlene's been tellin' everyone. Even put a buncha flyers all over my damn truck,"

Sam cursed under his breath, drawing a smile from Sasha. "Guess we're having a Halloween karaoke night,"

"How 'bout it then, Sasha?" asked Jason **.**

"You know, that sounds terrible," grinned Sasha. "I'm in,"

"Awesome!

* * *

Her plans with Jason and co made her feel a little better, but not well enough that she decided to skip her therapeutic shopping venture. Halloween still wasn't for another two weeks. And so she found herself in Shreveport's shopping district not long after, trying to shop her worries away. A few things she was meant to shop for anyway—her grandmother had insisted that she wear pant or long skirts and shirts with sleeves when she began learning about potions and spells, and her current wardrobe currently consisted of shorts and muscle tanks. It was also getting colder in the evenings, and so she was pleasantly resigned to a bit of a shopping spree.

She found herself gravitating towards long peasant skirts and billowy blouses, thinking that the movement and coverage that they'd offer would be an excellent compromise **.** But the longer she shopped around, the more she realized she wasn't enjoying herself.

Sasha was lonely. It dawned on her when she was in a sea of shoes and frustrated with trying to decide which, if any, she wanted to buy. Back home she had plenty of shopping partners ready and willing to do a little damage to their bank accounts—James and Mimi were amongst the most lethal in that regard. Even though she was often used to being on her own—primarily when she had her "human things" to do, she was always in the hustle and bustle of the compound, always gearing up for a dinner or ball or some event or other, for a walk along the shore with Malachi, a drive with Eoin. She missed the sharp, biting (ha!) wit of her vampires. Even here in Bon Temps, she'd gotten used to Jack's constant presence. Now the person she'd begun to feel most comfortable around, she had to avoid.

"Well aren't you just hard to please,"

Sasha's eyes snapped to the mouth that had just spoken in that honeyed, deep drawl. Pam's piercing blue eyes stared back at her. It was the rare occasion that she wasn't seeing Pam completely dressed up or down; she was wearing a pair of designer jeans, peep toe heels, and other than what she suspected was a hefty price tag, an unremarkable blouse. Oh, and the Chanel bag over her shoulder.

"Why doesn't this feel like a coincidence?"

"Because it's not. You have a phone and I'm good with a computer," said Pam. Sasha scoffed; she supposed she shouldn't have been all that surprised that the vampire was so blasé about such an invasion of privacy, much less with legality.

She watched wearily as Pam circled the white dais she was sitting on, eyes scrutinizing the shoes half out of the boxes around her. Sasha had tried on about six pairs and was close to giving up.

"Now these are a treat," purred Pam, picking up a pair of studded Alexander McQueen heels. "Simply darling. I'll take these in a nine," she added to a passing salesgirl. The girl nodded quickly, disappearing as quickly as she'd arrived. They didn't hesitate to obey Pam—because she was a vampire, or because she was pale and blonde Sasha wasn't sure. She just knew that the sales girls hadn't been to pleased by her appearance and her request to try on the shoes, and she was under the impression that they didn't think her able to afford them.

"Why are you still here?" she said it so off-handedly, her eyes still on the shoes, that for a moment Sasha wasn't aware she'd been spoken to. Then Pam's icy gaze turned to her, and she rolled her eyes.

"Because I haven't found that right shoes,"

"Don't get cute with me," said Pam. She dropped the shoes back into their box, coming to leer over Sasha. She was, if possible, more intimidating than Eric. Eric at least she trusted not to harm her. Pam…Pam was a bit of a wildcard. It was obvious the vampire couldn't stand anything about her beyond her choice of footwear, and she had the distinct impression that Eric was the only thing stopping her from 'accidentally' ripping into her throat. Well, that and her connection to the King of California. "Why are you still hanging around Louisiana?"

Sasha squared her jaw. She wasn't about to be bullied by Pam de Beufort.

"Why do you care so much?"

Pam smiled coldly, bending to meet her eyes. "I can't glamor you, only because you happen to belong to a very powerful vampire. So let's speak as girls, okay?"

"Sure thing, girlfriend," Sasha said wearily. Pam eyed her for a long moment, unblinking, The salesgirl returned with the shoes, setting them gently on the dais and then backing away when Pam didn't even flinch.

"The thing about my Maker is…every few centuries, Eric gets _bored_. And when he gets bored, he gets horny and he gets reckless—a dangerous combination, you can imagine. Maybe it's his age, maybe it's his fancy for modern women, but every few centuries has become every few decades, and when he fixates on some new floozy, guess who has to deal with the consequences and the mess he makes? Me,"

Sasha teeth gritted together, her anger flaring. She was _not_ some floozy, and she didn't care who Eric Northman was or Pam de Beufort thought she was; Eric's thoughts and feelings were his own, and she wasn't about to sit there and be blamed for Eric's actions.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I've kept my distance, Pam," she said flatly.

"No, you've kept him interested. I don't know why he flew out of Fangtasia a few weeks ago like a bat out of hell, but I do know that he came home dripping in Chanel No. 5,"

"Then he must have seen someone else, because I don't wear Chanel No. 5," said Sasha.

"You don't? Because you absolutely reek of it, Chocolate Chip," sneered Pam. She leaned in, her nose a hairsbreadth away from grazing her hairline. "Like I said. Now, my Maker is a big boy, and ordinarily I'd agree that he can handle himself. But we seem to be getting backed into corners by kings an awful lot lately, and I'm not going to let whatever hissy fit you're having with your king get Eric in danger. Maybe you like the attention, maybe you need a distraction—who knows, maybe you genuinely like Eric. I don't really care. I'm just telling you that you need to open up those pretty little legs of yours in another direction, understand?"

"Crystal clear," bit out Sasha. She could feel her eyes stinging with tears of frustration and humiliation—Pam had the power of making her feel humiliated for something she didn't even feel ashamed of, for something she had no part in even, all with that piercing glare of hers. "You don't need to worry. I already made up my mind to stay away,"

"Not yet you won't," said Pam. She reached into her purse, pulling out a flyer. "We're having a Halloween party Sunday night. You're invited,"

"Am I missing something here?" asked Sasha, taking the flyer. "You just said—"

"I know what I said," sighed Pam. "But I know my Maker. He'll just come to you if he thinks you're playing hard to get. He likes games—I told you, he gets bored. You need to make it clear to him that you're not interested. Otherwise, he'll just keep coming around and lets face it, you won't resist him for long. He's a Viking and a walking sin; you'll give in eventually, and then we'll have to face the wrath of your king. So come around, have a drink on us, but do us all a favor and spare us the inter-kingdom drama,"

She rose in one fluid, sensual movement. For a moment she stared down at Sasha with something akin to sympathy. "Trust me on this, Chocolate Cake. You have no idea how fast something like this turns into a shit show for everyone involved,"

"Yeah, I get it. A night in bed with Eric Northman isn't worth my life," spat Sasha. Pam's eyebrow rose.

"No, it's not worth _his_ life," said Pam. The salesgirl came back with her shoes.

"Ring me up," said Pam. Sasha watched her flounce off, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping something sassy. But, unfortunately, Pam had won this round. She wasn't even sure what she could say at this point.

* * *

Sasha's nose scrunched up in concentration as she peered up at The Moon Goddess Emporium through the dirty windshield of the Camaro. She made a note of getting to a car wash at some point—the climate was doing awful things to the muscle car's upkeep, and she'd already received several threatening messages about it from Eoin.

She had, somewhere in between abandoning her shopping and heading over to Moon Goddess decided not to dwell on Pam's surprise visit, nor on what she had told her. Just thinking of the blonde made her a sour mix of angry and humiliated she didn't care to continue to experience.

The shop was much larger than she had anticipated, though she supposed the store must have grown increasingly popular in recent years. Even though she'd personally stayed clear of Wicca and anything related to witches (the occasional ghost-citing notwithstanding) she knew that Wicca and crafts like it had begun drawing crowds in droves ever since the Great Revelation, having become something of a fad. Suddenly, with vampires out of the coffin, was 'cool' to burn sage sticks, mispronounce useless Latin love spells and layer dresses over billowy pants like it had never gone out of style after the seventies.

At the thought, Sasha blushed. Okay, billowy pants and blouses and dresses had been among her purchases for the day. But that _so_ was different.

The building itself was nice, a warm brick building construction with white design wrapping around its walls. Above the deep red overhang was a brightly lit sign with the store name. The windows were decorated with the usual clichés: lots of beads and draping fabric, a little end table with a crystal ball.

"Okay, you said you'd do this. So do it," Sasha told herself. Her fingers went to twist her new ring. Then she took a deep breath, grabbed her leather bag from the bench next to her and slung it over her shoulders. "Your first real purchase as a witch. Awesome,"

Cookie had given her a very lengthy and clear list on what she was to buy, warning her not to get swindled by the owner. Apparently they went way back; well, they had when Cookie had been alive. Marion wasn't a blood witch, but a practioner of Wicca with a very weak trace of magic in her veins. This made her exalted by her peers, and mocked by the likes of Cookie. But, Cookie admitted, Marion's _Emporium_ was the nearest shop that provided the kinds of things they needed, so that was where she had always taken her business, and Sasha would do the same.

A bell rang loudly somewhere in the depths of the shop as Sasha entered. Her nose twitched as she stepped into Moon Goddess, adjusting to the onslaught of floral scents and pungent spices. After a few minutes she decided it wasn't entirely unpleasant, simply eclectic, and she let herself in the rest of the way. As she wandered around the shop, she realized something a little eerie and unusual: there was no music playing. No background noise, no radio, nothing. The register was empty of workers, as was the rest of the store. Then a loud squawk caught her attention and she jumped; she had come face to face with a raven in a cage. A real, live raven. The black bird flapped its wings in the cage, restless.

"His name is Rudolfo,"

Sasha turned around, meeting a tall woman in a long, deep brown skirt. She wore a belted tunic over it and a woven knit vest. Her wavy hair hung past her shoulders—there wasn't a fleck of grey to be found. Perhaps this wasn't Marion? The woman, whoever she was, was gesturing to the raven over Sasha's shoulders.

"I have always loved Rudolfo Valentino films. Such a handsome man," the woman smiled as she drew nearer. "I am Marnie. How may I help you?"

"Sasha," she greeted in in turn, watching he woman curiously. "Is this your shop?"  
"Yes, it is," Marnie said proudly. "And my mother's before me, and my daughters after me, I hope. Someday, anyway," she added with a laugh. "I don't yet have a daughter,"

Sasha smiled again, though it was somewhat forced. Something about the shop, no, about Marnie, was making her a little uncomfortable. She dug her handwritten list out of her purse, handing it to the woman.

"If you could help be get what's on here, that would be awesome,"

Marnie looked it over, eyes flicking up at her with a look of approval and appraisal. "This is quite the list. You're one of us, I see. Not another teenager going through a phase, trying for a love spell to get some boy," commented the older woman. She waved the list. "You know your stuff, Sister,"

She wasn't going through a phase, no, but she didn't know her stuff, either. She was certainly no Hermione Granger; but Marnie didn't need to know that, or that any magic she'd used up until today was accidental. Already Sasha didn't like the feeling of exposure the woman's words brought, and she didn't think it was anyone business what she was or wasn't, much less the extent of her abilities—not that she knew them herself.

"I'm just getting what my aunt sent me for," said Sasha, shrugging. "Since I was shopping in the area,"

"Ah, your aunt," said Marnie. Her expression fell a little, like she was disappointed. "Do I know her?"

"Probably not," said Sasha, jamming her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Then, when the woman was still staring at her, "I'm in a bit of a hurry, if you wouldn't mind…"

"Yes of course, so sorry. Let me collect these things for you now,"

Sasha was left in silence to admire the shop, but not for long. Marnie's eyes kept flashing to her as she packed up Sasha's items in sachets and vials and chemical-free tissue paper.

"You must be new. To the area, not the craft, I mean," said Marnie with a little laugh. "I haven't seen you around before, and I happen to be the only witch in the area with a true repertoire of ingredients and products,"

"New, yeah," said Sasha. "But not really planting any roots,"

"I see. Well, how do you like it?" asked Marnie as she carefully weighed coriander on a scale.

"It's… humid," said Sasha with a soft laugh. "But its been nice so far,"  
"That's nice to hear. Let me just go to the backroom and grab a few things I don't keep out front,"

It took Marnie nearly fifteen minutes to get all of her things in order. Some powders had to be carefully wrapped, others packaged in glass vials. And there was quite a bit of stuff on Cookie's list, enough to restock the attic for her upcoming lessons, and Marnie took it upon herself to give her advice on storing the ingredients and for their uses. Sasha listened politely, but she was all too glad when the last of the paper parcels had been stickered with the Emporium's floral logo and placed by the register. She quickly paid and then left. She'd had the feeling that Marnie was trying to keep her around, that her story about her 'aunt' was entirely believed.

"Have a nice day now!" Marnie called as she all but fled with her heap of packages out the door.

* * *

 **Once again, SO sorry about the time this has taken. I'm supposed to be working part-time but i'm working nearly 40 hours a week. But now i'm officially done with school, so yay! More time for this! I'm excited for this next part of the story. Sorry if it comes across as filler-y, but I assure you it's all necessary in the grand scheme of things.**

 **Hope everyone enjoyed their holidays!**

 **To my reviewers! Thank you so much! That last chapter was one of the most reviewed ones! I can't tell you how much I appreciate you taking the time, especially consistent reviewers like Liza. I'll be honest; I'm a disappointed by the lack of feedback when I see how many people read the story compared to how many review. I put a lot of time into this, so when I get home from an exhausting 9 hour shift at work, it's heartening to see people take a few minutes to leave a review. Writing this is fun for me, but making it post-ready is labor, especially again when i'm so exhausted and disheartened. So thank you to those who take time to review. I know this fandom is a bit dead, and OC stories aren't everyone's cup of tea.**

Liza: **Sasha's grandmother might be dead, but she'll be damned if that stops her from meddling lol. Thanks for keeping up with the story. You're a real one. Hope you had a good holiday!**

 _Guest:_ **Kiss indeed. More to come.**

 _Bub-chibi-chan_ **: Your review brought me tears of joy. Thank you so much. There's SO much more to come...stay tuned ;)**


	16. Chapter 16

_**Chapter 16: All Hallows Eve**_

For someone who swore up and down that she had little to no desire to become a proper witch, Sasha Buckley sure seemed to be spending most of her time with her nose stuck between the pages of some spellbook or other.

Cookie could say that it was instinct, her heritage making itself known, all she liked—the truth of it all was that Witchcraft had rekindled that same fire that Sasha had been missing since she'd been out of school: the passion of being a student, of facing a problem with no clear cut solution or end, of having to study and apply herself until she saw different results. Because, as it turned out, Sasha was an awful witch.

Her talents in the kitchen didn't seem to translate over to potioneering. She crushed roots when she should have chopped them up, pinched in powders when she should have used oils, and she never seemed to _stir_ things correctly. Stirring, she was quickly learning, had everything to do with the outcome of a potion. Stir too fast, ruined potion. Stir too slow, ruined potion. Stir counter clockwise instead of clockwise or vice versa? Ruined potion.

Her constant failures had ignited her competitive edge, and so she found herself devoting more and more hours of her day to Witchcraft, frustrated that she'd yet to master it. Cookie assured her that this was normal; it took time, years she said. But Sasha had always been the perfect student: always able to quickly master subjects in school; pick up languages and concepts as easily as though it was the very air that she breathed. That magic was different was frustrating to her.

"…followed by _three_ drops of lavender _oil_ and _not_ the dried stuff…" murmured Sasha, carefully measuring out the essential oil with a dropper. She dropped it into the cauldron—an honest to god cauldron, as that's what had been buried in Cookie's chest—and watched the potion turn from a terrible murky green to translucent periwinkle.

"Fuck yes!" she cheered. She was working on a sleeping potion, and it was the third attempt that week. The first two times she'd managed to ruin the potion in the first and third steps; she was now on the sixth, and all appeared to be going well. So far.

"Good," approved Cookie, watching as she took a copper ladle and began stirring the potion clockwise. "Keep count,"

Sasha nodded, "…four, five, six…."

A buzz and a chime caught her attention and, as she kept stirring her potion, she peered over at her phone, half buried beneath the spellbook she was working out of today. It was a beginners guide and, unlike the family grimoire, she was allowed to take it out of the house. Cookie didn't like being parted from the other one.

The first text read:

 _At first I thought you were playing hard to get. But I see it's been a month. Could it be that you're embarrassed about wanting me?_

It was quickly followed up by a second:

 _Because if that's the case, you shouldn't be. I know I'm damn near irresistible, Miss Buckley._

And then,

 _Of course, your embarrassment could also stem from the kiss itself. Not to worry, I haven't judged your kissing capabilities on that one kiss. You were wasted; naturally you were sloppy._

"That jerk!" she exclaimed. "Ugh!"

She turned to glare down at her potion, frowning when a dark blue liquid flashed back up at her. "What the hell?"  
"You got distracted," said Cookie, coming around to stand next to her. "Dark blue. You stopped counting—you drink this now, and you won't wake up,"

"Holy shit this is poison?" exclaimed Sasha.

"No. Like I said, you just won't wake up," said Cookie. "You ever heard of Snow White?"

"Damn," whistled Sasha. "But that's awful!"

"It is," said Cookie. "And that's also today's lesson. See how quickly even the simplest potion can turn terrible if you get distracted? What's got you distracted now, huh? Is it that boy you talk about, Jason Stack—"

Sasha reached through her grandmother's stomach to snatch her phone off the table, but it was too late. Cookie had seen who had sent those text messages, and her mouth turned into a harsh line.

"You said you weren't seein' him no more," said Cookie.

"I'm not. I haven't!" said Sasha quickly. "I haven't, really. That—he's talking about a night after what happened with that vampire that attacked me,"

Sasha paused, biting on the corner of her bottom lip. "But I will see him again. Just once more."

Cookie was surprisingly silent as Sasha explained how Pam had accosted her on her shopping trip and proceeded to invite her to Fangtasia for the Halloween party.

"…and really, I'm only going because Pam's right. Eric's not gonna…he's interested in me, for whatever reason. This is a game of cat and mouse, and he won't quit if he thinks I'm still playing,"

Her grandmother remained silent, looking particularly translucent as she moved to the large window, peering out at the view outside. Sasha had the feeling she wasn't seeing much, that her mind was elsewhere.

"You worry me, child,"

"I told you I won't—"

But Cookie shook her head, turning back to her. "I know you won't hear a word against your vampires. So I'll only speak for Eric Northman, because him I know. That _thing_ is dangerous, and you don't see it. You're too enamored by him,"

Sasha's fingers twisted in the material of her auburn skirt, pinching and releasing the smooth fabric fretfully. "I'm…yes, I am enamored by Eric Northman," she confessed. "Just look at it from my perspective, will you? Vampires have been the norm for me for over a decade. That said, I've never met anyone like him. Cookie, he's a _Viking_. He is over a thousand years old—that's older than like, ninety-nine percent of beings on this planet alive today. He's an incredible fountain of information, a nearly infallible primary source, and best of all he's surprisingly approachable. Most of his kind—at that age anyway—aren't!" Her excitement had bubbled up, giving her cheeks a life and eyes a luster they'd lacked in recent weeks. And Cookie, seeing this, saddened even further.

"That said," paused Sasha, sobering. "Eric is…dangerous. I know that. He's been very lenient with me. Actually, he's been more than that, because he suspected I was something more. Despite the…kindness… he's shown me, I'm certain I'd be screwed six ways from Sunday if he knew what I really am. Because you're right. At the end of the night, I don't know him. I don't know what's in Eric Northman's heart, so I'll be careful."

Sasha thought she'd made a convincing speech by that point. But Cookie shook her head once more, looking incredibly grave as she smiled bitterly.

"And that's what worries me most of all, child. You think they have hearts."

* * *

None of the messages Eric had sent Sasha Buckley had received a reply. His amusement was beginning to fade into genuine annoyance; he hadn't taken her as the type to blush and hide simply because of a drunken make out. And if this was her playing hard to get…well, then not only was she playing with fire, but she was also more likely to turn him off completely. Eric enjoyed banter, he enjoyed her sarcasm and could even find amusement in rejection. But being ignored? That was a major turn off for him.

Eric rose from his coffin, picking up on the sounds of movement from upstairs. Pam had won out against him this years, and he'd finally given in and agreed to host a Halloween party. He didn't like it, but he'd promised her, and now he had to indulge her. Pam herself had been in higher spirits for the last week or two, and he didn't want to ruin whatever had finally put her in such a state by spurning the whole affair. It was, after all, only one night.

As he rose from his coffin and he tried to remember if he'd dreamt again. Vampires did not dream often. Though they could it was rare, because dreams did not occur during the death sleep of young vampires, but during the sleep of older, stronger vampires that could withstand the day enough not to die so completely.

When Eric dreamed, he often dreamed of his human life, of the Old Country, of hunts and battles. These memories resurfaced in dreams and he never fought them, enjoyed them like vampire home-movies, personal and intimate. He did not even tell Pam about them who, though she could not dream, did not share in his sentimentality for the past. But lately he'd dreamt of something more, something he had difficulty recalling entirely. He recognized fragments of the dreams—always the same dream, he thought, always just a little more of the memory, never the whole one.

A house, Victorian in nature. It was in Bon Temps, and he hadn't visited the residence in over twenty years, had no attachment to the place, and so he could not fathom why the dream was occurring now. He hadn't stopped to wonder about it's significance, but now that he thought about it, he'd dreamed it four or five times in the past two months. But why?

Curiosity gripping him (fueled by a need to avoid facing the nightmare of decorating upstairs) Eric returned to his coffin, slipping it shut once he was nestled inside. He shut his eyes, forcing himself into something akin to slumber. It took a while as he tried to clear his mind, to recall the memory-dream. Clearly, his subconscious was trying to tell him something—but what?

 _He dropped down in the driveway of the Victorian home softly, checking his watch as he did. Eric hoped to spend no more than ten minutes here, then resume his play time with the two blonde toys in the basement of Fangtasia. Not for the first time, he reminded himself to reward his progeny for coming up with such a fantastic idea. How had he resigned himself to running a fucking movie rental store when such a possibility had simply been lying in wait? Incredible._

 _Business first, play later, Eric reminded himself. Coming up to the front door, he rang the doorbell, noting that the woman he had come for was already up and heading to the door. He smirked; she'd known he was coming, some how. Sensed danger, perhaps? It was common for her kind._

 _He found some amusement as he listened to her pause, gather herself. Eric knew he must be appearing at her stoop now as her worst nightmare; truly, Eric had no qualms with witches, so long as they kept to themselves and made no trouble for him and his new position. He knew the Sheriff before him had not thought quite the same; Eric had only recently gotten through all of his Sheriff's journals, and in addition to learning of the vampire's deep-rooted paranoia when it came to just about everything, he'd learned he was especially paranoid about witches. He'd marked local witches on a map, and those he suspected as being witches. He'd even caused the death of a few he'd suspected to be dangerously powerful. Eric thought he was full of shit, but making the rounds never hurt. He'd already visited three others, and so far they'd been wisely agreeable._

 _One had even been a decent fuck. Eric was very hopeful of a new, younger generation of witches with looser morals and less discriminatory towards vampires._

 _When she answered the door, Eric found that Collette Montgomery was an attractive middle-aged Black woman. She'd thrown a robe on, and she was trying very hard to peer at him like she was very confused by his appearance._

 _"Evenin," she greeted._

 _Amused by this, Eric cocked his head to the side, flashing her sarcastic greeting. "Evening. Collette Montgomery?"_

 _"I am she," answered Collette, wrapping her robe tighter about herself. "And who might you be?"_

 _"Eric Northman," he smirked. Oh, she definitely knew what he was, maybe even who he was. And so, like the bastard he was, he teased her, "Won't you invite me in?"_

 _"No, I don't think I will," said the witch. "I don't have the habit of inviting strange_ men _into my home, much less in the night,"_

 _The way she said 'men' made his smirk widen. She was quite as friendly as the other witches had been, but he was sure she was stronger—not that the others had been very impressive to start with. But at least this was feisty._

 _"Fair enough," he agreed. He rolled his shoulders back, leaning against the doorframe of the house. "I have other matters I'd prefer to get to, so let's cut the bullshit. I know what you are, and you know what I am. What you might not know is that I happen to be the new, current Vampire Sheriff of Area 5. Your property, Miss Montgomery, happens to be in my Area,"_

 _He paused, watching her reaction. She stiffened, her knuckles protruding as she curled her fists._

 _"I—"_

 _"You'll find it in your interest to hold your tongue when I speak," said Eric, eyes flashing. He found no reason to let her think they were equals, much less friendly._

 _"My predecessor, may he rest in peace," Eric said, unable to keep hold of his sarcastic tongue. "Kept a list of those suspected to be witches. He was a… particularly paranoid individual. Now, we all know that the kind of witchcraft that might concern my kind is all but extinct. However, your name has a place on that list,"_

 _Collette's heart clenched. "Your wards…." Eric glanced over his shoulder, to the drive from which he'd walked up. There was no other car there, just her old Jeep. "Though intriguing, are weak. I sense no true power from you, though I suspect you possess more than this new trend of so-called Wiccans,"_

 _"Listen here,"_

 _Eric's fangs sank frighteningly slowly from beneath his upper lips, causing the witch to gasp. "No,_ you _listen here. I am not bothered with the trivialities of your kind. If anything, I can look upon the demise of true, great witches with some…regret…for the part my kind played. So practice your Craft, your religion. I don't care. However, should I hear wind of mass gatherings, of—" Eric Northman broke off in a sardonic laugh. "—of some sort of_ witch uprising _, then I will slaughter you all faster than you can cast. So if you mind your own business, me and mine will do the same. Unless…"_

 _"Unless?" repeated Collette._

 _Eric's hands ran over the frame of the door that separated them, then hovered over the invisible barrier that prevented him from entered her home._

 _"Unless you'd like to make a deal,"_

 _"A deal?" Collette said in disbelief._

 _"I am a powerful friend to have, Miss Montgomery. Useful in a…number of ways," he said deliberately. "Favors in exchange for a spell here or there,"_

 _Collette's face hardened. "I will not whore myself out to you, vampire. I am repulsed by your kind, and your very presence insults me!"_

 _"You'd be surprised—"_

 _Eric broke off. He heard her even before the witch did. He frowned; he could have sworn that he'd heard no other heartbeat in the home, that the woman had been living alone according to his records. Tiny feet slapped against hardwood floorboards from inside the house. Then Collette heard it too; the look of horror on her face was undeniable, even as she turned too late—_

 _A little girl came running out of the house, barreling past Collette as giggles tumbled past her lips. The child saw him too late, and she tried to stop herself. She succeeded in tripping over her own feet, falling face first into Eric's knees. The child bounced right off, falling on her butt. For a moment she appeared dazed, the tangle of curly, curly hair on her head covering her face. Then she pushed it away with clumsy little fists, and just when he thought she might burst into tears, her plump cheeks lifted and she giggled even louder than before, her mismatched eyes, one gold and one green, filling with mirth._

 _Then she lifted her arms up to him._

 _"Baby_ no _!" urged Collette, the child's action moving her from her stricken state._

 _Eric, an eyebrow raised, lowered himself to the child's level. His fangs were still out, and that seemed to be were her attention was focused. Her expression turned curious, pink little cupid's bow lips parting. Collette was no longer breathing; she was frozen, waiting on bated breath, like he was some wild animal._

 _Then the child did something even stranger. She reached a hand a tiny little finger towards one of his fangs._

 _Before she could reach, Eric had her gathered up in her arms. She giggled when she realized how high off the ground she was._

 _"Please, Mr. Northman—"_

 _"Be silent." Said Eric. The woman was. "Although, not that it seems I have your full and utter attention, something tells me you will be far more cooperative with me—"_

 _The child reached for him again, this time placing a hand on his cheek and another on his shoulder to steady herself as she leaned up to peer into his mouth._

 _"Are you quite done?" he asked her. His irritation went over the child's head of course, and perhaps because it was cut with grudging amusement. Surely there was something wrong with the child—then again, what did he know of children? The last child he'd held had been a babe, his own back a thousand years ago when he'd been human._

 _"Skit!" he cursed, nearly dropping the child. She smiled up at him, revealing her own pair of fangs. They were white and deadly pointy, an exactly replica of his own._

 _"How?" he snarled, his eyes flicking over the child. It had a heartbeat, it had blood—blood he'd never smelled before, sweet and salty like the sea, like honey and spice and mountain air._

 _The child, sensing his change in tone, began squirming, reaching for Collette as tears welled up in her eyes._

 _"Please give her to me, Mr. Northman—she's just a child!"_

 _"A child?" he repeated. "What is this thing?"_

 _"She's my granddaughter!" cried out Collette. "She's like me, like me she's a witch! This ain't nothing more than a glamour, I swear it! She can make herself look like other people, take on their traits—hair, skin color, eye color, everything. Teeth too! She ain't what you think—that's impossible!"_

 _Eric was still unconvinced. Her reached a finger up into the babe's mouth, pricking his thumb against a fang, but felt nothing, only the flat bluntness of a child's human teeth._

 _"Very well,"_

 _Collette stepped out of the house and he handed the child off to her, stepping away after he had. Vampire hybrids were myth of course, but a myth regarded by vampires as incredibly dangerous to all manner of creatures. If this here had been that…_

 _"She's just a witch, I swear to my Mother-Goddess she ain't nothing but more than a witch," said Cookie, stepping back over the threshold of her house with the child nestled in her arms. The little girl watched him through teary eyes, like she was incredibly disappointed that he had not turned out to be a new friend, but a big bad monster instead._

 _"A powerful witch," said Eric. "For one so young…"_

 _"A glamor, nothing more," assured Collette. "Glamors run in the family,"_

 _"So you a true witch, then? You have the old blood," said Eric. Perhaps his visit had been more fruitful than expected._

 _"Descendant of the old blood. Far enough removed that you needn't worry about me and mine, Mr. Northman," said Collette._

 _Eric didn't entirely believe her, of course. He eyed her for a moment longer, then the child._

 _"If I were you, I'd prevent such accidents from occurring again. Others of my kind will not be so…disinterested. I don't need to explain how enticing the opportunity of raising a powerful witch-child would be for certain vampires. The King of Mississippi, for instance, would be one such vampire you would not want to meet,"_

 _Eric backed off her porch a bit. "I can find it within my good graces to…keep vampires from here. Of course, I will expect certain services in return,"_

 _Collette Montgomery said nothing as he picked a Fangtasia business card from his back pocket and offered it to her._

 _"I'll be in touch,"_

 _Then he was gone._

* * *

She might have been an awful potioneer, but it turned out Sasha was at least successful at one spell: a cloaking spell.

And, in true Cookie Montgomery fashion, her grandmother was not pleased.

At first, Sasha had been incredibly annoyed—the woman, ghost, _whatever_ , just could not be pleased. Then she realized why Cookie was so upset. Magic came from desire, and it upset Cookie that the cloaking spell came so easily now to Sasha, because it revealed her ever-present desire to repress the witch in her. The spell worked similarly to the ring Malachi had given her, dampening her witch's aura to those who might know to look for one or be able to sense such power and understand what it was. But, unlike the ring, it didn't inhibit her abilities. It was like one-way glass.

Still, even with her mastery of the spell, Sasha preferred to wear her ring. She'd leave Montgomery Manor with the cloaking spell in place (though Cookie didn't like how it came about, she did insist Sasha always remain cloaked however she could, especially now that she knew nothing of the Craft and was therefor so vulnerable) and then as soon as she was out of her grandmother's ghostly eyesight, she'd remove the cloaking spell in favor of the ring. It was pathetic, but Sasha told herself that it was better this way. She didn't want her spell to slip, and not now that she had met another witch.

A witch _and_ a psychic.

The psychic was Lafayette Reynolds, the self-proclaimed ghetto-fabulous fry cook of Merlotte's Bar and Grill and local one-man dispensary, amongst other things. She didn't know how aware of his own abilities he was—it had been strange for her to even realize there was something different about him, like she had known something was off about Sam Merlotte. She'd brought this up to Cookie, and had received more information that she'd expected.

"Lafayette Reynolds's is a psychic, Sasha. Maybe a powerful one too, someday. His mamma brought him to me when he was real young. Wanted me to 'fix' him. She was a psychic herself, but I don't think she knew, or understood. She was real troubled, that woman. Suffered a lot in the head. So I did what I thought was best: a bound his powers, so that he was protected from himself and from others that might notice he was different. With no one to guide him… it was better that way,"

That had certainly been an interesting revelation, and though Sasha wanted to approach Lafayette about it, she found no way to do so without revealing what she was or her relation to Cookie. She didn't want word getting out about her unexpectedly local ancestry, lest that information get out to people who had known what Cookie was—people like Eric Northman—and reveal her by blood.

If Eric ever put two and two together…Sasha shuddered to think what he might do. She didn't _think_ he'd turn into some magic-hungry tyrant and chain her up in his basement, but she really didn't truly know him enough to swear her wouldn't, either. No, Sasha thought that she mostly _hoped_ he wouldn't, because even though the creepy tarot cards and his bitchy progeny gave her reason enough to stay away, she wanted to believe in the good in him for some reason. If Eric Northman was just some other power-hungry, unconscionable vampire…well, she'd be disappointed, because that would just be too…easy. Too boring. Too predictable.

There was also a witch, and he just so happened to be Lafayette's boyfriend. Cookie, who had pretty much a bad opinion on just about everyone and anyone different, surprisingly hadn't batted an eyelash when Sasha had informed her on the situation. "There are still ways of making sure that the genes and magic are passed on," she'd remarked. "It's good that they found each other. They can help one another,"

Jesús Velásquez was the most powerful witch that Sasha had ever met. After she'd decided against learning the Craft, Malachi had been adamant about keeping her away from other witches (Sasha did not tell Cookie a word of this, of course). At first, she'd been nervous about meeting him, scared, even. She could feel his power, and something about the way he carried himself, the way his aura moved with him so strongly and comfortably, without repressions…she had the feeling he not only very well knew what he was, but regularly exercised his power.

But within five minutes of talking to him after meeting him at the bar of Merlotte's while he waited for Lafayette to go on his lunch break as she'd been chatting with Jason any reservations she might have had were broken; Jesús wasn't only a sweetheart, but also incredibly kind and funny too. She'd instantly been won over, and he was the newest of the tentative friendships she'd made.

Another friend she'd made: Jessica Hamby.

Sasha had been very reluctant about that one, but Jessica had been surprisingly aggressive in trying to befriend her. She knew it was a bad idea to get too close to the redhead—the girl was the King's progeny for crying out loud, and she'd committed a crime practically in his backyard—but it was a little impossible to avoid her in the small town. Jessica Hamby was seriously lacking for friends in her own age range, and especially of the female variety. Other than her Maker, her boyfriend Hoyt and Jason Stackhouse, she didn't really have anyone else. Not surprisingly, while most of the town had resigned itself to having a vampire waitress, they did not feel the need to extend the hand of acceptance any further into the territory of friendship.

And so Sasha often found Jessica knocking on the door of her bungalow, coming in to bitch about her relationship problems or the taste of Tru Blood. In a lot of ways it felt like the only normal part of her life right now; in others it was incredibly strange, because she found herself answering a lot of questions about vampires and vampire society that Jessica couldn't or didn't want to talk to about her Maker.

A lot of them were about sex.

"Hey Jess," mumbled Sasha from around a mouthful of bobby pins. They were getting ready at Sasha's bungalow for the 80's themed Halloween party over at Merlotte's, and they'd settled on one of Jessica's favorite topics: vampire sex.

"What?" asked Jessica, fixing her electric blue leotard over her skin-right fuchsia tights. "Wait can you make the ponytail higher?"

Sasha adjusted the redhead's hair, then continued. "I've been around vampires for longer than you have, sure, but I'm not really an expert in vampire sex, you know?"

Jessica giggled. "Well, sure, but you can give me the human side of things, can't you? I've never had sex with a vampire as a human," Jessica frowned. "Well, I guess I've never had sex with a vampire period, just _as_ a vampire,"

They'd discussed Jessica's transition as a virgin at length; Sasha had been disgusted by the whole tale of her Change, and though she was happy that Jessica appeared happy in her new life, it was awful that she'd always have a very intimate mark of that consensual change: her eternal virginity.

"I've never had sex with a vampire, Jess," Sasha told her.

Jessica froze beneath her touch, her big blue eyes blinking at her through the mirror uncomprehendingly. "You _haven't_?"

"Let me guess, you also thought I was a fangbanger?" Sasha asked with a sigh.

"No!" said Jess. "But I mean—but with Eric, and I've smelled him on you, and well, I guess he's never really been the type to just have friends, and you two always seem so…tense…tense like two people that just wanna jump each other,"

Sasha's cheeks flooded with heat. "I haven't slept with Eric Northman. Like I said I've never slept with a vampire,"

"Oh," said Jessica. Then she frowned. "But, wait, you're not a virgin, are you?"

"I'm not," said Sasha in amusement. "Would it be a big deal if I was?"

"No, no, it's just…I don't really know what I'm sayin',' she laughed nervously. "I didn't mean any offense,"

"No worries," laughed Sasha. "I get that sort of reaction often, especially if people know I've lived with vampires. At best they think I just like dating vampires, at worst they think I'm some sort of sex slave that just got passed around,"

"Oh. Ew," said Jessica.

"Considering that they all knew me when I was like, twelve? And that I consider them family? Yeah, _ew_ , is right," laughed Sasha. "Any more mildly invasive questions?" she teased.

If Jessica could have blushed, she might have. "I'm just glad we met, Sasha. Its hard havin' girlfriends when you're dead. The girl who was coolest about me bein' a vampire was Sookie, but she is…was…my maker's girlfriend. And kinda uptight anyway, so it felt weird talkin' to her about some stuff, especially because I just knew she'd tell Bill right away,"

Sookie Stackhouse; Sasha hoped she wasn't really dead for Jason's sake, but it had been a few months since she'd disappeared, and it was like she haunted Bon Temps. Sasha had heard a lot about the waitress; gossip was filled with very mild despair. The general consensus was that she'd brought it all down on herself by being a fangbanger and freak.

 _Freak_ ; once a childish insult, these days it had a whole host of meanings attached along with it. Sasha had been curious. She was certain that Jason Stackhouse was nothing more than human, even though she occasionally caught an odd glint to his aura. But if Sookie had been called a freak by the people of Bon Temps for longer than she'd hung around vampires, then maybe…

"It's really terrible about that girl," said Sasha. "Jason's trying to appear like he's powering through it all, but its taking its toll on him,"

"It is," agreed Jessica. "On everyone that cares about her. Deputy Bellefleur was talkin' about draggin' the lake if she didn't turn up soon. And Bill's beside himself too, it's making him a bit unbearable. He's just throwing himself into politics and it's getting old already. Only Eric seems okay,"

"Eric?" asked Sasha, tipping her head. "So he and Sookie were…close?"

A guilty expression crossed Jessica's face, revealing that perhaps she'd said something she shouldn't have.

"Um, yeah," Jessica said, trying to play it off. "They're…friendly. Were. Whatever. She worked for him for a bit,"

"She worked at Fangtasia?" Sasha asked skeptically. She couldn't see Eric taking a personal interest in his employees.

"Shit! We're running late!" said Jessica. "You still need to put on your costume!"

They weren't. But Sasha let it slide, resigning to finding out the truth about Sookie Stackhouse another day. She was certainly intrigued.

* * *

When Eric rose from his coffin for the second time that evening he was in such a foul mood that even Pam was prudent enough to steer clear. She kept the employees from bothering him as the last few touches were added to the club for the night.

Pam had gone all out with the decorations, and the result had been well worth the effort. She'd turned Fangtasia into something out of a nightmare. Even Eric had done a double take at the body parts dangling from the ceiling; for a moment, he'd doubted they were props. It was only the lack of a smell that assured him she hadn't gone ahead and massacred a small Shreveport neighborhood for her decorations.

Not that he'd put it past her.

His throne had been replaced, and for a moment he was annoyed. This new throne looked entirely constructed of human bones but he found that the armrests of femurs and cracked skulls at least made for an excellent arm and hand rests.

"I can handle tonight on my own, Eric,"

Eric's eyes flicked to his progeny, narrowing suspiciously. She'd insisted all week long that he had to be here tonight, that half of the Halloween crowd was coming simply to see him there on the throne, lording over the Halloween revels. He'd grudgingly agreed despite his aversion to the so-called holiday, but now that he was here she was trying to send him away? He didn't buy it.

"I'm here, aren't I, Pamela?" he asked.

"Of course," Pam said demurely. Her hands snaked across his shoulders to his caress his neck. "I can have a girl for you in ten minutes, if you'd like. You're so tense; you need to get off. Badly,"

Eric was inclined to agree, but he was also weary of literally breaking a human with how furious he was right now. He _really_ didn't need the paperwork and bad press that would lead to.

"Or I'd be more than happy to lend _my_ services, Master," said Pam, a smirk tugging at her lips. Eric's eyebrows rose; they hadn't properly fucked each other in decades, though they'd messed around occasionally. Pam only _offered her services_ however, when she'd knew she'd done something she shouldn't have. What was she up to now?

"Hey Pam?"

Ginger came tottering towards the throne dressed in an obscene version of Little Red Riding Hood in her highest heels yet.

"What, Ginger?" snapped Pam.

"I know you said you wanted all the cases brought in from out back, but we're missing a few—"

"Oh for fuck's sake, Ginger. I saw them myself out there shortly after sunset," said Pam. She retracted from Eric, flashing him a fanged smile. "Another time, then."

Eric watched her flounce away, still suspicious of his progeny.

He just wanted the night to be over with, so that he could sleep it off. At least then he'd be dead to the world and, most mercifully, his own head.

But, naturally, by actively trying not to dwell on Sasha and her lies, it was all Eric thought about all night. By nine-thirty that evening he hadn't moved from his spot on the throne, and in those four hours he had examined every conversation they had shared since she'd arrived in his territory.

At which point his anger had fizzled into a simmering frustration. With the revelation that he'd not only already _met_ the girl, but that Sasha Buckley was Sasha Montgomery, granddaughter of the late witch Collette Montgomery, a witch herself, Eric now had a dozen more questions. The first was: _what._ What did she hope to gain? Because surely that was why she was hovering around him so much. Her grandmother was dead; what attachment could she have to Bon Temps? Last he'd seen of it, the house was a ruin. There was nothing for her here.

The next question was _why,_ why would the King of California have any interest in him, in his territory? Was Sasha a pawn to get to Eric, and was he in turn a ploy on his own monarch? And, perhaps most puzzling of all, was the third question: _how_. How was it that Sasha Buckley had ended up in possession of the King of California? He remembered Collette Montgomery's aversion to vampires quite well. It would have been over her dead body that she'd let a vampire have her granddaughter.

 _Or maybe it was over her dead body,_ thought Eric, frown deepening. He'd known of her passing—he'd kept tabs on her, just in case, even between her occasional magical services—but he hadn't known of any suspicious circumstances revolving around her death, either. Could it have been a hit? Had King Jakande killed Collette Montgomery to get to her granddaughter?

That at least made sense. Eric could understand the appeal of having a witch at his disposal. Eric had warned Collette the very night he'd met her of such a thing. Once upon a time, it had been a common enough desire and attempt of vampire monarchs to 'acquire' witches to keep to their aid. They had special, enchanted collars that would protect them from the witches power and bind then to their will. Did King Jakande have something similar?  
Or, had he simply brainwashed Sasha? If he'd taken her as a young girl…

It occurred to Eric then that perhaps, in all of this, Sasha might have been a victim. It could be that she didn't know what she was doing, or that she was doing it against her will. That would explain his draw to her. He'd always been drawn to the wounded, the broken: but the wounded and broken that still had a fight in them. Was that what Sasha was?

 _Maybe. But you feel like an idiot because you genuinely liked her, and she managed to fool you_ , thought Eric. And that was certainly true. He felt a certain sense of betrayal, after all. He genuinely enjoyed her, and it was a shame that he'd have to…

…that he'd have to what? Eric's lips pursed. Generally, he had no qualms with killing the messenger—he found it a rather effective message in itself—but he also wasn't typically so…attached. And more so, it would be a pity to kill such a creature. Witches like her were practically extinct, and as he'd once told her grandmother, he had no personal desire to see them all dead, not as long as they understood their place in the world, as long as they didn't fuck with him or his own.

No. He wouldn't kill Sasha Buckley. There was no way to tell how King Jakande would react, anyway. To lose such an asset might set off the kind of war he wanted nothing to do with. Eric Northman liked minding his own business quite a bit, and he was in no hurry to start a conflict that would inevitably set his progeny in harm's way. He was old and he was strong, but the King had resources that even he did not, and Eric wasn't so sure he could count on Bill Compton to intervene with diplomacy.

 _No, the fucker would probably hand you over on a silver platter. Literally_ , Eric thought. _Better to deal with this quietly. Deal with Sasha first, then the King's plans._

But how to do it? He hadn't seen Sasha in weeks. If she was supposed to be working him over, she'd been doing a shit job of it lately. Then again, her little disappearing act had ensured him as he'd thought of her often. Fuck. Maybe she knew _exactly_ what she was doing.

So Sasha. It had to start with her. He had to find out what her situation was, see if she was truly as sympathetic to her King as she portrayed herself, or if that was also all part of the act. He could offer her freedom in exchange for information…or something. Yes, that would be what he would do. Tomorrow night, or the night after. Whenever the urge to strangle her for making him feel so foolish for trusting her, helping her, for wanting her, receded.

* * *

There was an overwhelming abundance of vampires waiting to get into Fangtasia for its inaugural Halloween party, and very few had real fangs of their own. Sasha watched the bizarre scene—she couldn't decide if it was ballsy or just plain stupid to walk into a vampire bar with a pair of plastic fangs—and after five minutes of checking her watch and suffering through being sandwiched between two " _vampires"_ weighing their odds of screwing Eric Northman aloud, she stepped out of line and walked straight up to Pam.

Pam, for her part, was looking uncharacteristically sweet as a Pam Ann, though her usual sensuality was there two, emphasized by her longs legs beneath a tiny navy skirt. Her blond hair was beautifully coiffed beneath a red and navy cap.

"I was wondering how long you were going to keep waiting in lien with the peasants," drawled Pam. Her eyes scanned Sasha's outfit. She wore a white sequined bra and a matching set of shorts—using the word 'shorts' was generous—under a clear plastic tunic dress. On her feet were white go-go boots.

"I was at an eighties themed party earlier," said Sasha, shrugging. "So I went as cocaine,"

Pam let out an amused bark of laughter, the sound so surprising and genuine that Sasha felt her own smile form. Then Pam's laughter faded and she regarded Sasha with a look that was almost wistful.

"Oh, it really is such a shame," she said ruefully. Sasha wanted to ask what she meant, but Pam had already gestured for her to move forward with the poise of an airline hostess, and so she entered the club.

Fangtasia's atmosphere was decidedly different that night. Maybe it was the knowledge that it was Halloween, maybe it really was that just because it was Halloween that people acted differently, that the very air held a delicious hint of menace to it. The club had been turned into a sexy, creepy haunted house and it was nothing ling the kitschy mess of Merlotte's. Here the strobe lights caught the masks and painted faces of club goers, making them more terrifying in their illuminations.

Sasha felt that tug and push, the part of her that was so fascinated by the darkness, the instinct that told her to _run, run, run!_ It was just as it was with vampires.

Vampires.

There was only one vampire she cared about tonight, and he was sitting like a block of marble on his throne. She watched him for a moment, feeling a wave of heat flush her cheeks and lower belly. There was simply no denying how _good_ Eric Northman looked.

He was in his characteristic black clothes; black jeans, black shoes, and a skin-tight black tank that showed off his arms and clung to every ripple across his chest and abdomen. His thighs, spread just so, and his hands curled upon them, were incredibly inviting all of a sudden, and Sasha's lust turned into an unexpected bout of amusement.

He'd thought _she'd_ been a succubus? This Adonis here thought she was some mythical, sexual being? The very creature that was sin and sex incarnate? Absolutely incredible.

Sasha slipped through the crowd, her attention fixed on Eric Northman. She'd spent the entire drive over creating mock arguments in her head, because surely he'd argue that distance between them was unnecessary, and she felt confident about her prepared speech.

At least until she was facing him, looking up at him on the stage. The second their eyes met, she felt any last remaining heat in her body turn to pure ice.

She'd sensed the dark energy around him, had even chalked it up to Fangtasia's overabundance of fangbangers with fangs, but now that his stony, cold gaze met hers, she found it all directed at her. It was not the welcome she had expected, not after his texts, after a month of not seeing each other, after that stupid drunken kiss.

Suddenly, Sasha Buckley felt like a very foolish little girl.

"Can I speak to you?" she asked him.

She didn't think he moved a single muscle as he flicked a lazy, disinterested finger her way. She was a little put off as she climbed the stairs to him, and furthermore when she moved to take a seat near him and he held a hand up to stop her.

"I didn't realize I'd invited you to sit," he told her lazily. There was no trace of amusement or of a smirk present. He was completely serious.

"Can we speak in private?" she asked him tentatively, resolved to come across as unaffected as he was. If he wanted to pretend he didn't know her, two could place at that game. Maybe he'd grown insulted of her ignoring his texts. Who the hell knew?

"Here is fine," said Eric.

"All right then," she said, her jaw squaring a bit in bitterness. Switching to French, she said, " _I came tonight to thank you for everything you've done for me since I arrived—_ "

"I've done nothing for you. I've only done my duty as Sheriff," interrupted Eric. He still spoke in English, but what caused her eyebrow to raise was his flat out lie. Helping Jack might have been his duty, just as taking care of his awful Maker had been. But everything with Bartholomew had well pushed past _duty_.

" _Then thank you, Sheriff,"_ she said, unable to keep her tone anything less than frosty. She wasn't sure where his animosity was coming from—she'd hoped to part on good terms with him. " _Given the circumstances, I thought you should know that—_ "

Sasha gasped when she found Eric leering over her, and she nearly took a step right off the stage in surprise. But Eric's hand looped around her waist, resting on the small of her back to keep her from falling entirely. The heels of her boots hung right off the edge of the stage, and she heard exclamations of surprise somewhere below her. She was leaning at an angle, Eric the only thing keeping her from falling. His hand reaching up to her waist-length hair.

"What have you done to yourself?" he asked, pinching the ends of her hair.

"I—I straightened it," she stammered, her heart leaping between he toes and her throat from her near fall, and his proximity. Always his proximity.

"Did you think I'd prefer your hair this way?"

A twinge of annoyance twisted her mouth. "I didn't do my hair for you, Northman. Christ, I just came here to tell you that we should stop seeing each other!"

The surprise was evident on his face only for a split second, because one moment he was there and the next he was gone. Sasha yelped as she fell backwards, only to be caught by Eric on the ground. Her back hit his chest and he easily righted her onto her feet.

"You _jerk_ ," she gasped, pushing away from him. But his hand gripped her upper forearm tightly, and he began dragging her away from the stage, in the familiar direction of his office.

* * *

Regret was not an emotion Pam felt often, but she was feeling hints of it now as she watched Sasha Buckley enter her club. Of course, her regret wasn't for the obvious reasons. She didn't regret her actions at all—keeping the girl away from Eric was in her Maker's best interests, and she stood by her actions. No, watching the girl sashay into the club…well god damn if she just didn't look like a delicious morsel. She wouldn't mind sinking her fangs into Sasha.

Eric would be pissed. Or maybe just amused; they'd long since made a game of stealing each others toys. Who knew, maybe he'd want to join in, or maybe he'd just want to watch. Or maybe _she'd_ watch—just thinking about tying up Sasha and ordering her Maker around made her panties dampen. And it had been just so long since Eric had let her dominate him; she was still the only one he allowed to do so… _fuck, I'm not wearing panties._

"Can I get in or what?"

Pam blinked at the vampire that had just spoken, an eyebrow raised as his urgent tone broke through her little fantasy. The vampire was tall and thin, with a headful of dark hair and incredibly bright eyes, dressed in all black. She didn't think he wore a costume, though his eyes were rimmed with black eyeliner. His cheeks were flushed, indicating that he'd just fed recently, and quite sloppily, too. Pam could see and smell the human blood on his collar, could see stains of it against his skin, just on the corners of her mouth.

Fucking newborns.

"In a moment," said Pam. She gripped his collar quite suddenly, startling him, breaking his gaze from the door and bringing him to face her directly. "You look new around here—in every sense of the word. There is no feeding in my bar, do you understand? No. Feeding. Usually I take care of those who break the rules but tonight my Maker, and your Sheriff while you reside in his Area, is feeling particularly homicidal, so I really wouldn't push your luck, Twilight. You got that?"

The vampire rolled his eyes, scoffing impatiently. He tore away from her grip, straightening out his clothing. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. No bitin' the humans,"

"You newborns get worse as time goes on. It's unfortunate to call some of you vampires," drawled Pam. "So…sloppy,"

"Whatever you say, lady. Since you're so chatty and all," said the newborn. "You know that girl that just walked in. You were talkin' to her? She smelled like a fuckin' dream, like, like laundry or some shit? Vanilla too?"

"Sasha?" Pam said with an eye roll of her own. "Yeah, I fucking know the little snatch—"

Pam paused, eyes flicking from the vampire's bloodstains to his jittery behavior. His eyes were shifty, and bright—his whole body just looked too… _alive_ —well, well, well. It looked like she had a little blood junky on her hands, didn't she?

"Here," she said, acting incredibly judicious as she handed him a ticket. "First Tru Blood's on us,"

"Yeah I'm good, thanks," he said hurriedly. "So the girl?"

"Who?" Pam asked innocently. "Oh right, Sasha. The Vanilla Girl. She's real sweet, ain't she?"

"Like fuckin' candy," agreed the vampire. "She uh, she ain't claimed or nothin', right?"

"Hmm, not that I recall," said Pam. Then she grinned deviously. "But I know she just _loves_ vampires. She's here all the time just waiting to…get snatched right up," Then she made a show of sighing loudly, fanning herself with the rest of the pamphlets in her hand. "And it's a damn shame, too. Poor girl is an outta-state transplant—no family, no friends. If something were to happen to her, I doubt anyone would even go looking for the little wretch,"

"Oh yeah?" said the vampire, his hand twitching at his sides. "Yeah, yeah, real shame,"

"You can go in," said Pam. "Enjoy your bite—sorry, _night_ ,"

* * *

He didn't let go of her until the door of his office was shut and he had her up against his desk, half-sitting on it as she leaned away from him.

Eric stared at her for a long moment, blue eyes unblinking. She squirmed uncomfortably, and when she tried to move away, his hands wrapped around her wrists and held her in place.

"I'm only going to ask you this once, and I want the truth from you, Sasha Buckley,"

There was no kindness to be found in him, only a cold threatening danger he emanated. This wasn't about some kiss, this wasn't about unanswered texts. She's somehow managed to really piss him off.

"W-what?" asked Sasha. She hated how shaky her voice sounded. His grip on her wrists tightened, and she whimpered as he dragged her closer to the edge of his desk, closer to his face. His fangs weren't out, but they might as well have been.

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"I—what?" she asked breathlessly, confusion diffusing the pain and anger in her features. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Eric's eyes searched hers, and she realized that, somehow, he'd managed to do it again. Between his roiling emotions, beneath the intimidation, he was trying to…look out for her? Eric's hands let go of her wrists, only to capture her cheeks, to tilt her face up to his. Her heart began hammering in her chest again—was he going to try to glamour her again? She wasn't so sure she'd be able to fake it this time…

"I can only help you if you're honest with me, Sasha. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"No, Eric, I don't," she whispered. "And you're freaking me out. Please get off,"

Eric stared at her for a long moment. His hands remained steadfastly where they were, but when she pried them away, he let her.

"So you have not been…these vampires, the ones you call your family," said Eric. He spoke very carefully, like it was imperative to him that there was no misunderstanding between them. "They are just that. Your family? Everything you do with them, for them—it is of your own volition?"

"Yes, of course," said Sasha. "I mean, there are rules—there have to be for the nest, and the King's Law obviously—I'm not, not _held_ against my will or anything. They are my family."

She thought he was maybe disappointed by her answer. Eric pulled away from her, his hands slipping into the back pockets of his jeans.

"A pity for us both, then," said Eric.

"Eric, I don't know what you're talking about—"

"You should leave my club now," said Eric. He moved back to his office door and held it open for her. "If you do insist on sticking around in my Area, you'd be wise to allow this to be the last time we saw each other,"

She was more hurt by his words than she should have been—after all, this was why she'd come here, to tell him this very same thing—but there had to be some misunderstanding going on.

"I mean, I agree but—"

"You agree," laughed Eric. There was no trace of humor to be found. "How convenient for us both then,"

Sasha stared at him, waiting for him to break out into a wide smile and tell her this was all a big joke. But she'd never seen such an expression on his features before, and the look he gave her now suggested that she wouldn't even be seeing one of his trademark, devilishly handsome smirks again, either.

"Well goodbye, then," she said. She felt robbed of some moment with him. Sasha wasn't sure what she should have expected—a chat and a goodbye, to part on the hopeful note that they might meet again without the drama and danger of the present? As she left his office, his hand on her shoulder stopped her. She _really_ wished he'd stop touching her. She'd never minding the cold touch of a vampire, but now his touch was just thoroughly chilling. Cruel, even.

"Don't come around again, Sasha. Whatever it was you were sent here to achieve, I doubt it is worth your life. Don't feel that there is a guarantee that you will be protected from _me_ , Sasha Buckley, not as you have been until now,"

That chill turned into splinters of ice across her skin. Sasha shuddered, and it was as though the blanket of warmth that had been wrapped around them fell, a curtain revealing the true nature of the vampire beneath. Eric thought she was her king's pawn—to what end? To seduce Eric? To spy on him?

"You've got it all wrong, Eric," she whispered. Then she shrugged his arm off and walked out of his office, pushing through the crowd. She just wanted _out_.

"Sasha!"

Sasha stopped short, blinking up in surprise—who he hell did she know that frequented Fangtasia? Then she found Daniel grinning at her, and she couldn't help but return his grin with a smile of his own. He was dressed as Elvis. And not a scary-take on The King; not a zombie-Elvis, not a vampire-Elvis. Just good old-fashioned Elvis, from the hair to the white outfit.

"Wow," she said, laughing a little.

"You like?" he grinned, spinning on the spot and thrusting out his hips. Miraculously, the tray of glasses he held didn't even teeter.

"Very cool," she told him.

"You looking for the boss-man?" asked Daniel, leaning in a bit to be heard over the music. At the mention of the Sheriff, her smile fell off his face.

"No, I'm actually leaving," she told him. She glanced at her watch—it was still over an hour to midnight, but there was no way she was going to hang around Fangtasia and find out just how real Eric's threat was. She'd also promised Cookie that she'd stop by the house before midnight to observe some witch tradition or other. Sasha really wanted to just climb into bed, but it had seemed important to her grandmother.

"What? No!" exclaimed Daniel. "One drink!"

She tried to protest as he dragged her to the bar, but the vampire—honestly inhuman strength was one of the few things that even marked him vampire, he was just so… _strange_ for a vampire—but it was impossible, and soon she was sitting in a booth in a corner of the bar.

"I really can't stay, Daniel," she told. "And, I'm driving,"

"Like I said, _one_ drink," said Daniel. "And I won't even make it strong. King's honor,

She rolled her eyes. "Eric practically kicked me out of here—no, he _did_. You don't want boss man mad at you, do you?"

"Eric?" Daniel said airily. His hands were a blur as he shook a tumbler—when had he even started mixing ingredients? "No way. Guy's a big softy, and he likes you. I think we can all tell,"

"I know it's not possible," said Sasha. "But are you high?"

Daniel laughed, pouring her drink in a small glass. "Just because I'm not all doom and gloom? There's more to being dead,"

Sasha sighed. "Well it looks like I might be finding out for myself," she said, picking up the drink.

"I really wouldn't worry about it, Sasha," Daniel told her. "Eric's a cool guy. Very respectful. I don't think you'd have to worry about him being violent with you. Maybe just a few spankings—"

"—okay that's enough, go do your job," she told him, rolling her eyes. Daniel grinned impishly at her, then flashed on to the next customer, leaving her to her drink.

"I think you're really hot,"

Cold breath licked the inside of her ear, and Sasha cringed away from the man—boy?—that had sidled up to her. By the way he was dressed she would have thought he was some fangbanger, but she could tell he was vampire.

"I'm really not interested," said Sasha.

The vampire frowned. "Well I am,"

Sasha's eyes narrowed—the _nerve_ of this fang. "Well I'm _not_ ,"

"Just give me a chance—just until you finish your drink," he said. His desperation not only annoyed her, but it also disturbed her. And so she grabbed her drink and knocked it all back, slamming the glass back down onto the bar top.

"Huh. Look at that. Still not interested."

Sasha didn't stick around to see his face or wait for a reaction. She spun on her heel and fought her way through the crowd and to the door. She swallowed a few times, uncomfortable by the odd taste left on her tongue for the drink. Not that she'd be going back, but she certainly wouldn't order such a thing from Daniel again—he'd missed the mark this time. There was just something…funny to the liquor.

She stumbled a little on a heel as she left Fangtasia, barely catching herself as she ignored Pam's sugary ' _goodbye now!'_. Sasha blinked a few times, swayed a little as she pressed on to her car—was this fatigue catching up to her all of a sudden? Her grandmother had warned her of such a thing, now that she was just exercising her magic. Sasha stumbled again, and this time she caught herself against the hood of the Camaro. She tried to blink away the dizziness, feeling heavy and light as air all at once, like an awful bout of drunkenness.

And when she blinked again she thought maybe the world had gone, or maybe it had gone dark, or maybe she hadn't blinked at all, maybe her eyes hadn't opened again.

* * *

 **OH MY GOD YOU GUYS. I HOPE THE WAIT WAS WORTH IT BECAUSE ERIC KNOWS! AND SASHA DOESN'T KNOW THAT HE KNOWS! and um, obviously other stuff happened this chapter. duh.**

 **A MASSIVE, MASSIVE THANK YOU to my reviewers. The last chapter was my most reviewed chapter, and I can't tell you the warm and fuzzies it brought me. It actually also directly contributed to some of the events of this chapter, and it was really inspiring reading your reviews (and reading them each very often!) I was pleasantly surprised about the feedback, especially since a certain Mr. Tall Blond And Viking was lacking! I hope this chapter more than makes up for it-we got Eric AND Pam.**

 _Keri: **I'm very glad you keep checking back! Even if some time passes between updates, rest assured this story will see a conclusion. I even had sequels heavily planned out, and I'm crazy invested in this story! Last chapter even surpassed 100,000 words, so theres no way i'm turning back now lol**_

 _Liza:_ _ **Hopefully this chapter answered some of your questions regarding Eric/Cookie and also inspired some new ones! As we saw in this chapter, Cookie wasn't entirely honest with Sasha about how she met Eric, and left out a few major details! I 110% adore Pam, and writing her is always a pleasure. It's liberating, and even though there will be disagreements between her and Eric, (such as about how she chooses to be protective about him) at the end of the night they're Maker and Progeny, and nothing will come between that bond.**_

 _Guest:_ _ **Thank you so much! I try to keep the original characters as IC as possible despite the fact that i get to expand so much on situations we haven't really seen in the show. So your review means a lot! There is still plenty to come with Sasha and Pam, and i'm sure a shopping trip is somewhere in their future. Who knows! (I do. I do know. ;)**_


	17. Chapter 17

**_ATTENTION: 1, Can't believe we're at 17 chapters of this story, and 100,000 plus words. I'm going to go ahead and give myself a pat on the back. THANK YOU to all the reviewers. You guys keep me going when i get discouraged._**

 ** _2: DISCLAIMER: I wrote this sober, then edited this under the influence of 3 drinks at a local dive bar. So if there are any glaring mistakes, let me know._**

 _ **Chapter 17: Liar, Liar**_

Mac Appleby didn't really sound like the name of an undead creature of the night, but Mac Appleby had been a vampire for nearly thirteen months now, thank you very much. _Mac_ was a name given to him by a mother and father that had dreamt of having a son as broad as he was tall just so he could be a raging bull of a linebacker. But Mac had grown up tall and thin as a reed, asthmatic, and with interest in sports whatsoever.

To say that he was the family disappointment didn't even begin to cover it.

Mac liked to think he was much more interesting than all those things his small-town Tennessee family had dreamt up for him. He liked blood—no, had been deeply enamored by it since he'd been a little boy who had been picked on in the schoolyard, who often found himself covered in scrapes and bruises. His interested in the macabre had only increased as he'd grown older, as his father had died and his mother had remarried an abusive asshole.

Then, shortly before he'd turned eighteen, vampires had come out of the closet. There had been nothing more liberating, more defining than that for him. He had felt vindicated, and even asshole-step-dad-Dave couldn't bring him down then. Mac had always been heavily involved in online culture, in obscure message boards and forums, and it wasn't long before he'd formed an online 'nest' with people that understood him, thought like him. And after he'd turned eighteen and had been able to drop out of school and book it from his shit-hole of a home, Mac had fallen in with his nest, because they'd spent months and months making plans.

They would all become vampires.

It had taken _so_ long. None of them had been prepared for just how difficult it was to find someone willing to turn another into a vampire. Vampires, it turned out, weren't anything like they'd imagined. For some godforsaken reason, they were so fucking stingy with blood. All they'd needed was _one_ —Mac had volunteered to be the first—had formed their nest as humans anyway, and would form their nest as vampires. It had taken a year, and entire _year_ to find a vampire willing to change Mac and then Release him and then fuck off and let them handle their own existence, just as they wanted.

And it had cost a pretty penny, too.

None of it mattered now. The last thirteen months had been everything Mac had wanted, over a year spent in a haze of night and blood— _so much fucking blood_. Mac, who had lived such a restricted childhood, didn't deprive his Children of anything, ever. And so it was blood always, so much blood they looked more human than other vampires, so much blood that they couldn't do without and who he hell _cared_ anyway, because why not have blood always? Mac hadn't cared when he'd gorged himself on his mother's blood—it had been so poetic, his mother's death nurturing his new life—nor when he'd ripped apart asshole-Dave—and so what if sometimes it was hard to think of anything but blood sometimes? If his hands shook? Blood was life.

Blood was _fun_.

He and his nest hunted like a pack. They had to keep moving around—it turned out vampires weren't just uptight about blood, but also about their stupid fucking laws—and so they toured the states close to home, snatching up humans and fangbangers with the sweetest blood they could find, and then sharing that blood together.

For Mac, it was the most beautiful thing in the world, to find and procure such sweet, sweet blood for his Children, his family. It was the only time he enforced rules, the only time that he cared to have them. It was against vampire law what they did—something Mac would never understand, how giving in to their true nature was against their laws, when they simply did what they were meant to do—and so when they Played he was careful, he though it was so difficult to keep himself in control. But a Maker had to do that, sometimes.

The girl he'd picked out didn't have an attitude he liked. She'd been so mean, but she'd smelled so divine, and that vampire at the bar, the blonde one, had even mentioned she had no one. She was just their perfect prey, and Mac couldn't wait until the day he could just glamour the bad attitudes out of bitchy girls like this one. Sasha. Her name was Sasha. Well, Mac had known bitchy, up-themselves girls like her all throughout high school, the ones that wouldn't give him a chance even when he deserved one, and he'd think of them when he took the final sip from her aorta sometime in the next few evenings.

He was, after all, trying to invent a new game to keep his Children happy. They'd see how long they could keep a human around, how slowly they could bleed one, to see how long they could control themselves and how long their toy could live. He hoped that they could manage more than a night. Mac was doubtful; though it had been incredibly easy to snatch her up—that bartender had even unknowingly supplied the perfect opportunity, by giving her that drink for Mac to spike—he wasn't sure he'd last the entire drive back to the nest. Already he wanted to pull over and feed. Then again, if he'd been Heath, he'd have already ripped her apart. That was why Heath didn't play procurer anymore.

Mac glanced at the girl passed out in the passenger seat. Her skin was somewhere between light and dark, and so smooth it recalled the chocolate he had enjoyed in his human days. He reached now for her hand, bringing her limp wrist up to his nose. He inhaled deeply; she smelled like pure Vanilla, like his mother's perfume. His fangs were out the next second, grazing her skin.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Never had a scent driven him so crazy before. He had to think of his Children, had to think of the pleasure they would all share in sharing her. Mac's tongue darted out, dragging across one of the girl's limp fingers, drawing it into his mouth, just between his fangs, careful not to draw blood. A moan escaped his mouth as he felt warmth and the taste of her.

His Children were just going to _love_ this one.

The drive took longer than expected. There were many police patrols out on the road that night, lying in wait for drunk drivers foolish from their Halloween festivities. Despite the shakiness of his nerves and of his entire body— _thesweetbloodwasjustrightthererightthereforthetaking—_ Mac thought of his Children and drove carefully, and he didn't get pulled over once. But just before he arrived at the nest, the girl began stirring. He frowned—they usually took much longer to wake from the drugs than that.

* * *

Sasha came to groggily, feeling heavy, heavy, heavy in her head. And as her head lolled on her neck, for a wild moment she wished it would just roll off her shoulder entirely, just so that she wouldn't have to hold it's weight any longer **.**

"Eric?" she asked groggily. She wasn't seeing so clearly, her eyes thick with sleep, with headache, with ache in general. The rhythm beneath her was familiar—a car. Where was Eric taking her?

"Wakey-wakey, human,"

Okay, _so_ not Eric. Sasha forced her eyes open, pouting at the sheer force of energy that took. Was she hungover? She didn't remember drinking, not really…

Sasha found that she was indeed in a car, and that Eric was not next to her. A vampire she didn't know was driving, and she felt a chill of foreboding crawl down her spine. What the hell…

"Who are you?" she demanded. Her tongue felt like cotton in her mouth, and she thought she'd slurred the words.

"I'm Mac," said the vampire, glancing at her. "Your new Master,"

"Excuse me?" she snapped with all the aggression and insult she could muster. She pushed herself further up the seat, dragging her head upright. The vampire appeared somewhat gob smacked by her response.

"I said—"

"I heard you the first time," she snapped. She was going to be sick. "What the hell do you think this is? Fuck, did you _roofie_ me? Oh my _god_ ," she groaned.

"Hey now, wait a minute—"

"No _you_ wait a minute!" exclaimed Sasha, squirming in her seat. Her hands were tied at the wrists, feet at the ankles. She was just now realizing this, her limbs were so numb and heavy. "What kind of born-yesterday, green-ass vampire are you if you can't even _glamor_ your victims, if you have to resort to roofies like some fucked up frat boy? Pull over, _now_ ,"

The vampire's jaw tightened, and he was clearly insulted.

"You stuck up little bitch," he shot at her. "Shut up,"

"I am not going to shut up," said Sasha. "Oh you are in _so_ much trouble, you idiot newborn if you don't bring me back to Fangtasia this _instant—mm!_ " Sasha's words became incredibly muffled as the vampire's hands left the steering wheel long enough to gag her. Her eyes widened in shock and then in pure anger as she swore at him from behind the gag.

 _You just have to be fucking kidding me_ , she thought to herself furiously. _Kidnapped by some idiot three-day old? Really?_

Sasha's rage continued to boil even as the vampire pulled into the parking lot of some shady ass building in what appeared to be an abandoned district. She fought him the entire time he forced her out of the car and towed her to the building, and as they stepped inside, she thought the place might have been a bank once. The vampire led her all the way passed the teller's windows, to a back room.

Four vampires were waiting for them.

"Mac!" exclaimed a tiny, pixie of a girl. Her black close-cropped hair accentuated her elfin features, and she had pretty blue eyes. Her fangs were out, and she was bouncing in place. She looked about fifteen. "We're starving!"

"We all are, Ellie," said another vampire haughtily. He appeared the oldest in appearance, somewhere in his forties or fifties. He stalked towards Sasha, nose twitching all the way. Like the minute girl, tremors ran through his body—perhaps they really were starving.

"Why is this one gagged?" asked another girl, coming around to sniff her. "Screamed too much? She doesn't _smell_ scared," There was disappointment in her tone.

"Actually, she's just very rude, Trix," scowled Mac. "See for yourself,"

The gag was removed from her mouth, and she spit on the floor, hating the taste of dirty _whatever_ had just been in her mouth, along with something vaguely salty. "You guys are _so_ dead if you don't return me to Fangtasia!"

The vampires in the room laughed.

"See, we're already dead," sneered the man in front of her, the one who looked older. "So good luck with that,"

Sasha scoffed in disgust. "You have _no_ clue about anything, any of you, do you? I don't know what fucked up, backwoods vampire turned you all, but there are _rules_ for this kind of thing, and even if you don't respect humans and their laws, you bet your ass you'll respect the vampire ones! I'm claimed, and if you touch me, you'll be lucky if you still have your fangs attached, much less your balls, newborn,"

The vampire in front of her growled, his amusement fading. He struck her face—and through the blinding shock and sting of pain, Sasha registered how lucky she was her whole head hadn't gone flying off her neck.

"You _fucker_ ," she hissed, tears prickling her eyes from her stinging cheek and cheekbone. She could feel them roll down her cheeks. "I'll make sure you meet the sun first,"

"Drop the idle threats, yeah?" said Mac, moving away from her and to the elfin girl. He put his arm around her waist, drawing her into a long kiss. "I already know you're unclaimed, that you don't have anyone, dead or alive. The blonde told me,"

"Eric?" Sasha asked in surprise. There was just no way that he'd set her up like this—even if he wanted her out of the way, he'd take care of her himself, never through someone so, so sloppy and just plain _tacky_ —

"The blonde at the door of the bar. She recognized your fangbanger ass. Apparently you hang around a lot," said Mac.

" _Pam?_ " exclaimed Sasha. She couldn't—no she didn't _want_ to believe that Pam would go to such lengths to get rid of her, but then she thought back to the adoration that Pam had for her Maker, how she considered Sasha a threat. Pam didn't give a damn about human life in general, as far as she could tell; what would make hers any different?

"That bitch," she hissed. She'd have some words for the BDSM Vampire Barbie the moment she was free of all this. And maybe silver-coated brass knuckles, if she could swing it. "Listen here, newborns. Eric is going to—"

"Yeah, okay, who the hell is this Eric you keep bitching about?"

" _Eric Northman_ ," said Sasha smugly. "So you'd better—"

"Who?"

The vampires of the room all looked incredibly bored with her, barely even curious. Annoyed, like they weren't used to arguing with their food.

"The hell is Eric Northman?" asked Elle.

"He's your Sheriff, you dolts," exclaimed Sasha. "How do you not know who—"

"We don't have a Sheriff," Elle said smugly. "We only obey our Master, and that's Mac. We're nomads. Fuck authority,"

They all cheered her, and Sasha was left muttering _what the actual fuck_ under her breath. Surely this could not be real—she'd what, been kidnapped by a gang of newborns with no understanding of vampire culture or consequences?

"He the one that runs that bar?" asked Mac. "Because we're out of that Area. Technically speaking, he has no jurisdiction here. We're in Area Four or some shit,"

Sasha's bravado began to fade. If she wasn't in Eric's Area, then the newborn was right—Eric had no authority here. And if they didn't recognize his name or care about vampire law, than even her trying to bullshit them with Eric's name wouldn't be of any help.

"I'm a _close_ friend of Eric Northman's," said Sasha, fighting to keep herself in check. "And maybe you don't care about the law, but _he_ does. But anything he does won't even begin to compare to what _my_ Master will do to you,"

"Your Master?" The girl, Trixie, asked with a frown.

"Yes. Pam is a jealous vampire. She lied when she had I had no claim on me," said Sasha. And here came more lies. She winced against the stinging of her bruised cheek. "Can't you tell how different I smell? How good my blood smells? It's because I have the blood of a powerful vampire in me—a King. I belong to King Jakande of California, and he will drain you dry from now until the next century if you harm what is his. _Now take me back to Fangtasia,"_

"Lies," dismissed the older looking vampire, shaking his head. His leg was twitching, foot tapping an uneven rhythm against the ground. "Trying to save her own skin. Let's dine,"

"Wait, wait," said Trixie. _Finally, a voice of reason._ "What if she's telling the truth?"

"Who cares!" shouted Elle. She plastered herself against Mac. "Can we feed? Just a little? Pleeaasssee?"

Sasha's lip curled in disgust at her babyish voice.

"Mac, please," said Trixie. "This game is only fun if we don't get caught. If the Authority finds out how many humans we've killed—"

"Stop being a crybaby bitch, Trix,"

"Fuck off, Heath! I'm thinking about the nest, not with my fangs!"

"Yeah, all right, let's cool it, yeah?" asked Mac, growing increasingly agitated as he began pacing. His eyes were jumping everywhere—from Sasha's neck to her chest to his nestmates.

"But—"

"I SAID LET ME THINK!" he shouted unexpectedly, causing even Elle to flinch away from him. Mac's lips curled back, his tongue moved over teeth; Sasha suspected that his fangs ached him. She realized too late that the danger here lay in their instability: they were all blood-addicted newborns that had given into bloodlust and never recovered, and now they were far more jittery and unpredictable than any newborn.

Trixie. If she had any hope of swaying any of them, it was through Trixie. Sasha had no doubt that the vampire didn't give a damn about what happened to her, nor that she too was suffering from blood addiction, but she also seemed to be the most in possession of a logical mind.

 _Think, Sasha, think_.

"You could verify the truth with a single phone call, you know," she told them. Again Sasha had to fight to keep the tremors from her voice, from appearing as unaffected by the whole situation. It was a difficult charade to pull off, but her life counted on it; these newborns were like wild animals, and if she attempted to run, she'd simply activate their instinct to hunt. Right now the best thing she could do was remain as confident and in possession of her wits as she could, to keep her chin high and speak to what little remained of their reason. Besides blood, they would only care of one other thing right now: self-preservation.

"Fine, listen to the little bitch and call that fucking bar! But do it quick, because I'm starving!" exclaimed the male vampire.

Mac scratched at his jaw impatiently. Then he jammed his hand into his back pocket, pulling out a familiar looking flyer. It advertised the Halloween party at Fangtasia. He handed it over. "Fine, Trix—make the fucking call,"

"You know, my phone has Eric Northman's personal cell phone number in it," said Sasha. _And can be tracked._ "Be a lot faster than all this,"

"Yeah your phone's also in the parking lot of that bar," said Mac. His attention had already shifted away from her; his eyes were focused on his thumbnail, were it dug half-moon gashes into his index finger. He watched the blood flow, the skin heal, then repeated the motion over and over again. His jitteriness seemed to calm a little as he did so.

Sasha turned instead to watch Trixie as she dialed Fangtasia. Part of her hoped Pam answered, because even if it was the last thing she did, she had some choice fucking words for the psychotic blonde vampire. Or maybe Daniel would answer—God she hoped it was Daniel who would answer.

Instead it was an out-of-breath woman that answered, sounding somewhere between frustrated and exhausted as she hurriedly spat out, " _Hi, hello, thanks for callin' Fangtasia the bar with a bite, Ginger speakin'. What can I help you with_?"

Oh, _fuck_.

"I need to speak to Eric Northman," said Trixie. "Now,"

" _Ugh, you and every-fucking-body else_!" then the line went dead. Trixie looked to Mac for direction.

"Goddam Ginger," groaned Sasha. "Call back and have _me_ talk to her—"

"No," said Mac swiftly. "Sun's coming up soon, I can feel it. We'll go to ground now, and I'll decide tomorrow what's to be done with the human,"

"But I'm hungry _now_!" whined Elle.

"Who the fuck even cares? Whoever she belonged to should have kept a tighter leash on their bitch!" Heath started towards her, fangs protruding from his snarling mouth. The other vampires in the room snarled and hissed, their own fangs extending.

"As your Maker I Command you _all_ not to feed on this human tonight!" shouted Mac. His eyes were wild as he stalked forward, grabbing Sasha's bound hands roughly. Her fingers had been interlocked to keep her hands from shaking, but Mac's grip crushed them together, and she felt a throb and crack on her ring finger. She whimpered in pain, her teeth biting down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out.

"I decide tomorrow what we do with her. Trixie's right. If we get caught, it ends badly for _all_ of us," said Mac as he towed Sasha further through the office.

It didn't help, but Sasha tried to plant her feet as he dragged her through the offices and past a vault—they were in what had once been a bank after all. Mac didn't even notice her efforts. He stopped in a dim room.

"Guess you live another night, breather," hissed Mac. His hand had come to hold her jaw, and she couldn't even breathe for fear the same thing that had happened to her hand would happen to her jaw. "Know that if you're lying, you'll regret any hour I spare your life,"

Then he shoved her away from him, and instead of simply falling to the floor, Sasha fell _through_ the floor. She screamed until her back hit hard ground just a second later, the air knocked out of her lungs and consciousness from her brain.

* * *

Fear. It bubbled and sizzled in her veins, shooting up her heart rate and clouding her mind so much it was difficult to form fully fledged thoughts. Sasha couldn't remember the last time she'd known such raw fear; she hadn't even felt so frightened when Bartholomew had bitten her.

Darkness, which had never before bothered her, now loomed frighteningly around her, an abyss hiding monsters that preyed on the very fears coursing through her. She realized belatedly what the eerie, chilling sounds echoing around the chamber were: her own choked sobs. Lying on her back, salty tears escaped the corners of her eyes and tracked past her cheekbones to leave cold wet lines to her neck. Pain continued to throb and blossom in the back of her head and down her back, her face and hand.

Sniffling and grimacing, she tried to roll her shoulders, twitch her toes, whatever muscles in her back and legs she could. Her body responded, though the pain that flared through her caused her to gasp out loud; at least her back and neck weren't broken. But Sasha was certain she had a concussion, mild at the very least. Her right ankle was sprained, maybe even fractured from her fall through the ceiling.

Fighting against the pain, Sasha forced herself to sit up. Her head swam, and a second later she began gagging. The bile that had accumulated in the pit of her stomach came up, and she barely had enough time to shift onto her hands and knees before she was retching. The sharp, sour smell stung her nose, and she wiped at the back of her mouth, scuttling further away from the pile of sickness.

Her sobs subsided to sniffles as an unforgiving headache settled in, although her head cleared a little, enough she could think semi-straight. _Work through the pain. Work through it or die here._ She had to get the hell out of…wherever the fuck she was.

The chamber was big; that much she could feel and hear by the echoes sounds made. The air was stale and cold, enough that goose bumps broke out across her skin, and she realized that there was no movement in the air, no sound of a generator of any sort. This wasn't air conditioning, she decided, but the staleness of being underground. Given that she'd been kidnapped by vampires, it made sense that they'd taken her to some sort of underground refuge. It was also a strong indicator that it was already day.

Sasha froze. Dawn. If it was already past dawn, now was her chance to escape. Her eyes had somewhat adjusted to the darkness, but there wasn't a single source of light for her to actually see anything. Even when she scanned the ceiling—she remembered falling through it all too well the previous evening—she couldn't make out the outline of a hole or opening. It had been covered. For all she knew, the vampires that had taken her could be asleep in the room with her.

 _No,_ thought Sasha. _Even newborns wouldn't be that stupid. If they were in here with me, dead for the day, they would be too vulnerable. They would have tied me up at the very least._

That they hadn't tied her up came as another disconcerting thought. It meant that they were pretty confident she couldn't find her way out, which likely pointed to their being only one, inaccessible exit. And if she wasn't gagged, that pretty much meant that she could scream and cry and no one would hear her.

" _Fuck_ ," she cursed herself, her stupidity and helplessness. Magic flowed through her veins and yet barely knew the first thing about it, now that it became necessary to use. She remembered once, one of the only times that her magic had been brought up between them, Eoin had quite plainly told her that he thought her refusal to learn about her witch heritage was stupid and cowardly. She hadn't spoken to him for a week after that; the words had hit too close to home. Now she vowed to tell him that he had been absolutely right. If she'd been a proper witch, she'd be out of this mess in a pinch. Sasha had always believed that being raised around vampires had bred her to be alert and cautious, careful about stepping into danger. Perhaps it had made her complacent instead, always having someone bigger, stronger, wiser to look after her. Because right now she was screwed. Even with the studying and lessons she'd completed with Cookie, Sasha didn't now the first thing about how to get herself out of a bind like this one. She was still at the beginning stages of potioneering, not to mention spellcasting.

Her ring. She was still wearing her ring. Sasha reached a finger for it, wincing as she felt the tenderness of her swollen finger. Even if she'd known much more about spellcasting, it would be useless at this point. Her knuckle and finger had swollen up so badly there was no hope of getting the damn ring off and performing magic.

Sasha tugged at her hair, finding it easier to pretend that the tears stinging at her eyes were from the sharp pain of pulled hair follicles than of the realization of her own stupidity and mortality. She'd always thought she was so smart, so capable of running with fangs.

 _Girl, get it together_ , she told herself. Slipping into the grief and self-pity of her situation was too easy she found, and if she was going to get out of this mess _which she would_ , she'd have to toughen the fuck up.

 _Think, think, think._ Sasha told herself. _What tools do you have at your disposal?_

Her costume dress was useless—she was freezing in it, so it was even a hindrance—but at least her go-go boots were the right mix of soft and tight leather, enough they kept her injured ankle bound enough. For not it would do. With a deep breath and a struggle, she rose to her feet.

She swayed in place for a minute, trying hard not to tumble over or put pressure on her bad ankle. When she felt she could, she forced herself to try to walk around the space. When that proved too painful, she went down on her hands and knees, able to use the palm of her hand to keep off her injured finger as she crawled around.

Her search at least proved fruitful. She found broken pieces of wood, and she at least had weapons. After working the ends against each other, she had two dagger like stakes. One she hid in her boot. The other she kept in her hand, ready.

Then she found a patch of wall and sat up against it, resting her head against its cool surface. She knew that she had to stay awake with her concussion, even if sleep sounded so inviting so that she might not have to feel pain and fear and misery.

 _There has to be something_ , Sasha thought in frustration. All that reading and studying she'd done—she had to have read a snippet of something that would help her. But what?

 _You're wearing the ring anyway,_ Sasha told herself. _So you'd have to get around that anyway. A potion would work—but you don't have ingredients, and what potion could you brew anyway? Fuck up a sleeping draught so you wouldn't have to wake up ever again? No such luck._

What was it that Cookie always said? _Magic is more than spellcasting…_

Sasha sighed. She couldn't think of a single thing that she could use or do to help herself. All she had were her makeshift stakes, and who knew if she'd even have the strength to use them. She just wanted to sleep…

"Sleep," Sasha repeated to herself. That was her solution! The sleeping draught she'd learned to brew had come from had belong to a witch obsessed with sleep or, more specifically, magic of the subconscious. She'd dedicated her Craft to discovering the magic in dreams and nightmares, had theorized about the power of sleep to travel back in time to revisit past sleeping selfs, memories…other people.

Sleep apparition or dream walking. That had been what the witch had called it. The theory of it had been simple enough, but Sasha wasn't so sure it would be helpful now. Who would she try to reach out to? The only people that slept now were vampires, and her vampires were on an other coast. She could try Jessica Hamby. Jessica would surely reach out to her, help her. Sasha's life was worth exposure of her secret, certainly.

 _Or…or Eric._

Was it wise to call Eric, the vampire that had threatened just mere hours ago? Maybe not, but she'd rather face his wrath against these psychotic newborns. Eric, at the very least, would make her death quick if he decided to follow through on his threat, though she doubted it. He was angry with her over a misunderstanding, but he'd listen to her side of things, understand…

 _But you'll have to tell him your secret. If he doesn't figure it out himself._ If she did manage to dream-walk into Eric's day sleep and managed to talk to him, tell him what had happened to her…surely he'd come help her. She'd be due for the biggest fucking lecture of her life no doubt, but at least he'd come. She was certain of it. She wouldn't even feel bad when he literally tore the newborns apart for their impunity. They'd hunted on his territory; he would not let that slide.

Excitement shot through her at the prospect of an actual plan to get her out of this mess. It relied on a lot of hope and theory, but at least it was something she could _try_ , and try hard and try fast, because she had no idea how many hours were left of daylight. For all she knew, it could be an hour. Minutes. But it was better than just sitting, waiting for death and fangs.

"Well," she spoke into the quiet echo of the chamber. "At worst, you don't wake up thanks to your concussion,"

Her bravado faded into focus as she shut her eyes. She didn't have anything of his to focus on, and so the best she could do was focus her entire psyche on the being that was Eric Northman. She pictured him easily, every line of his face, the vividness of his eyes, the curve of his mouth, the cleft in his chin.

"Eric Northman," she told herself, eyes shutting. She reached deep inside of herself for that part she had ignored for so long, the thread she had only started unraveling in recent weeks. Her magic. It fought against her, and her ring felt tighter on her finger. She pictured him so easily, having long since memorized the lines of his face, the set of his shoulders and curves of his thighs. Her focus turned to her feelings, jumbled as they were for him. That would be what guided her. "Eric Northman. _Eric_."

Sasha slid easily into sleep minutes later, his name on her tongue.

* * *

Dishonest witches and meddlesome kings aside, there was work to be done. Pam had flounced into his office and left the invoice from the night sales of the night before on his desk without word; she had not needed any, as her smugness had spoken volumes on her behalf. She was right to be so proud of course, as the night had raked in a ridiculous amount of money.

It looked like Pam would get her annual Halloween parties after all.

Although sales had been good, Eric was not quite so pleased with his review of the paperwork for the bar. He and Pam had stepped away some, added responsibility to their employees to see if expansion would be possible, if their original location could run without them. So far, it did no appear so. Although she knew the job well, Ginger's scattered brain wreaked havoc on paperwork. Between her slopping handwriting her inability to count correctly, she was often ordering too few of one thing and too much of another.

Good help was so hard to find, especially good _human_ help. Bitterly, he made a note to ask King Jakande just where he found his oh-so loyal breathers.

Now Hiring: intelligent breathers. Cash bonus for witchcraft and a hot ass.

 _Don't_. Eric told himself not to think of Sasha Buckley, and so he did not.

At least he didn't until she came walking into his office. His first instinct was to snap at her for barging into his office, and his second to remind her that she was no longer welcome in his establishment. But as his eyes drank her in, all thoughts of betrayals and witchcraft flew out of his brain, his cold blood rushing straight to his dick.

She was wearing an incredibly small black skirt, and the tiniest, thinnest black tank top he'd ever had the pleasure to come across. Her breasts, free from a bra, were just perfectly caged in the material, her nipples quite visible from the chill of his office. His eyes traced down her legs—they looked so much longer than they had to have been—coming to rest on her feet. Sasha wore bright red, fuck-me heels. And her hair. Her hair was no longer straightened as it had been the night before. It was back to its bouncy, curly thickness, just the way he liked it.

"Miss Buckley," he greeted slowly, his eyes not quite finished drinking her in. If this was her last-ditch effort to come and seduce him…then, well he'd certainly let her try. As many times as she wanted, before telling her he knew exactly what she was.

"Evening, Sheriff," She said demurely. She sauntered about his office, turning her back to inspect the only bookcase in the room. His eyes dropped to the backs of her thighs, to where the hemline of her skirt fell dangerously high.

"Can I help you?" he prompted. Her scent was stronger than usual, and his self-restraint was noticeably weaker.

"Actually I hoped you could," said Sasha. She turned back around to face him, smacking her red-coated lips together. "I'd like to file a formal complaint with the Sheriff,"

That wasn't what he'd expected. "He's listening,"

"Last night I went to a Halloween party at this bar called Fangtasia," she began. She dropped into the chair in front of his desk, crossing her legs lazily. Her skirt danced higher on her thighs. "I got to chatting with the owner—I thought he liked me, at first. But then ended up being incredibly rude,"

Eric fought a smile, biting into bottom lip.

"I see," said Eric. "And this vampire, what would you like me to do about him? I don't go around punishing vampires for rudeness. I'm sure he wasn't entirely unprovoked,"

" _I'd_ like to punish him," said Sasha. She rose abruptly, coming around to perch on his side of the desk. "And he was unprovoked. How do you suppose I do that?"

"Well," said Eric, placing his hands on her knees. He ran them up to her thighs, just under her skirt. He looked up at her, somewhat surprised when he wasn't stopping him. "I suppose you could make him jealous,"

"Jealous? How?"

"I'm sure we'll think of something," murmured Eric. He was standing in between her legs in an instant, reveling in the scent of her arousal. He still wasn't sure what had possessed her to this behavior, but he didn't care, didn't care that it all felt…off.

Sasha's hands ran up his chest and down his shoulders. "How do plan on helping me?"

 **"** First," said Eric, slipping a hand between her legs. She gasped quietly when he began to rub her through her lace panties. "First I'll make you feel better,"

She sighed quietly, his name on her tongue as his strokes became more deliberate. His mouth scraped across her neck, fangs lightly raking across her skin.

"Oh, Eric— _Eric,_ " he froze, pulling away from Sasha. Her tone had changed, as had her expression. Her eyes were blown wide—she looked terrified, absolutely panicked. "Need you, please, Eric help—"

Eric's eyes flew open, and for a split second he stared at the roof of his coffin in confusion. For a moment he laid there, annoyed as he realized that he'd woken up just over an hour before sunset. Then he glanced down, frowning as he took in the pressure of his throbbing cock. Wonderful.

With a sigh and, knowing he wasn't going to get back to sleep, he reached up and pushed up the lid of his coffin. Stepping out, he stood still for a moment, letting his body get used to the heat and pressure that plagued him with the sun still in the sky. It would be worse upstairs, but at his age a nonfactor, and he quickly pushed the discomfort from his mind.

What wasn't out of his mind, however, was Sasha Buckley. He was beginning to understand Pam's frustration with him; he was coming dangerously close to obsessing over her—maybe he'd already passed the line—and not in the careful, goal-oriented way he usually went about acquiring his fixations. With Russell Edgington, Sookie Stackhouse, Godric's disappearance, with all those things, he'd had a clear plan in mind, outlined by steps and, even when he became reckless with his fixations (such as with killing Talbot), he always retained a vague idea of what he wanted. With Sasha, he didn't know what he wanted from her, and therefore no idea how to get it. At least with Sookie, he had known she was a telepath, and had known exactly how to go about getting what he wanted from her. With Sasha, he didn't know _why_ she was so special to him, why she stood out the way that she did, even now that he knew what he knew about her. She was a witch, and she worked for another vampire. A king. Why was that not enough of a turn off?

Should. She _should_ have been ordinary, but Eric found her anything but. She fascinated him, and it was starting to annoy him that he was so fascinated without knowing exactly what had caught his attention. She was a pretty girl, sure, but he'd taken beautiful women to bed the world over.

It was all as frustrating as it was intriguing—a thousand years passed and he was still learning new things about himself. Eric glanced down; now, it was mostly only frustrating.

Stripping, Eric stepped into his basement shower. He turned the water on to cool and then stepped under the spray, easily conjuring the image of the witch from his dream. Those fucking lips of hers…Eric lathered himself up with soap and then wrapped a hand around his pulsing length. Pink, soft lips…he remembered how soft they'd been when she'd climbed into his lap and kissed him, how sweet they'd tasted… he could picture them perfectly wrapped around his cock, hot and tight around him, a delicious preview of when he'd be inside of her.

Sasha would keep eye contact with him. He just fucking knew it. Those big, eyes of hers, gold and green, lit with that inner spark she had, would be mischievous and defiant all at once as she went down on him, because she knew she was challenging his control. He'd bury his hand in that mane of curls—the very curls that drove him absolutely fucking crazy—and try to control her movements. She'd fight back by teasing him with a graze of her teeth, the hollowing of her cheeks, knowing exactly what she was doing to him, the kind of power she held over him in that moment.

Eric came into his own hand with a force uncommon for a quick wank in the shower, and he pressed his forehead against the bathroom tile. This past century was making him soft, and he'd be (twice) damned if he let a little human girl like her continue to get under his skin. He was Eric motherfucking Northman. He did not languish after anyone, human or vampire.

Sexually satisfied for the moment but irate in all other areas now, Eric rinsed himself off and then stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. Fir a moment he glared at himself in the mirror's reflection… it wasn't uncommon for a vampire of his age to lose it a little. A millennium was quite a bit of time. But then his thoughts turned to Sasha again, this time because A new detail had reared it's head. He had just remembered just where in his dream he'd woken up. It hadn't only been unfulfilled, but it had ended on an off note.

" _Need you, please, Eric help—"_

The words hadn't been the breathless, begging words of a lover. They'd been a terrified plea for help.

Strange. He remembered feeling her fear as though they'd been blood bonded, but of course that wasn't true. A note of unease filled him; he knew it was just a dream, and there was no way that his dreams were connected with the real Sasha, but he still had the sudden urge to call her.

Now _you're pining_ , said a voice in his head. It sounded suspiciously like Pam.

Pam. He'd have to apprise her of the recent developments. He had yet to tell his progeny about his discovery, and he was somewhat dreading doing so, as he knew that she would be insufferable once he made her aware. She'd gloat, telling him that she'd told him there was something off about Sasha Buckley, that he should have left her alone.

* * *

Sasha woke up with a jerk, her wandering consciousness returning to her body like an elastic snapping back to its shape. She was dizzy, and she was soon sick once more, her throat burning after from acidic bile. Her hand, where her ring rested, felt three sizes too small and like it had burned into her flesh.

Had she succeeded? It was hard to tell. She pressed herself to remember if she'd done anything more than dream about the vampire in question. She wasn't so sure she had; the steamy dream she'd had of Eric Northman hadn't exactly been her ideal SOS call. That had only happened at the end, like she'd forgotten all about her situation in the conscious world. Sasha didn't know how to tell if she'd actually succeeded in dream walking, or if she'd only had the most ill-timed wet dream of all time.

For a while after that, she drifted in and out of consciousness, too weak, too pained to do much else, try as she might to fight her drowsiness. She knew sunset was approaching, and she needed to be ready.

She wasn't so successful. Sasha dozed off, and she only realized it when she stirred at something cold being blown into her face. It was impossible to see in the dark, but she realized with dread what it was. A vampire was breathing in her face. Her hand curled tighter around the stake in her hand.

"M-Mac?" she slurred, voice thick with lethargy.

"Try again,"

It was Heath. She didn't, though her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She realized that there was a dim light from somewhere above—the opening in the ceiling had been uncovered. Now Sasha could make out the outline of Heath's body, make out his head, his shoulders…

… _his heart has to be about….there,_ she decided in her head.

"So what happens now?" she asked, braver than she felt. Here eyes were straining as she fought for lucidity.

"Mac's come to see my side of things," said Heath. She recoiled at his breath; it was metallic and rancid. "Says if you mattered to a vampire, you wouldn't have been taken so easily." Then Heath laughed. "A _king_ , really?

Sasha yelped as she was lifted off the ground by her throat. Her eyes bugged out and her stake nearly tumbled out of her hand as her instinct to reach for the hand at her throat took over. She kicked out even as her ankle pained her, but the vampire only laughed. He walked until he stood just under the hole, then jumped up, landing heavily just to the side of the opening. Sasha glanced down; her feet dangled above solid ground.

"I suggested letting you run, letting us hunt you, but Mac wants to get out of the Area just in case," Heath told her, disappointment obvious. "But he said I could get first bite, so I won't complain too much,"

"Think again, asshole," gritted out Sasha. Then she drove the stake through his chest as fast and hard as she could.

They both fell to the ground. Mac's grip on her had released as he screamed out in pain, but where Sasha hit the ground hard Mac hit the ground in a splatter of blood.

Sasha stared at the puddle, dazed. In a month she'd killed two vampires.

"What the _fuck?!"_ Sasha scrambled to grab the bloodied stake from the Heath-puddle as she heard Mac's exclamation. She looked around desperately—there was a desk in the corner of the room. She hobbled over to it, fitting herself beneath it just as hurried footsteps made it into the room.

"Oh, _no_!" cried out one the girls, Sasha thought it might have been Elle. "Is that Heath? Is that what happens to us if we die?"

 _So they don't even know what the True Death looks like, do they?_ Thought Sasha. Her heart was racing, but she forced herself to calm down. They'd find her anyway, but she wanted every second and split second of an advantage she could get.

"You think that breather did it? But how?" continued Elle. She sounded scared. "She's just a human—how could see kill one of us?"

"Who the fuck else could have done it, Elle?" asked Trixie. "Where'd she go?"

"Shh," said Mac. "I can hear her heartbeat—"

Sasha's grip tightened on the stake. She raised it, poised and ready—

"No one move!"

The newborns shouted and hissed in surprise, and Sasha peaked out of the side of the desk to see that a group of five vampires in black tactical gear and guns drawn had entered the room. Her eyes widened at the sight of the vampire SWAT-like team, confusion strong. What the heck?

Then a vampire she recognized came strutting into the room. She too was strapped in black gear, her long red hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Her catlike green eyes swept the room, pausing on the desk Sasha hid behind. Where had she seen this vampire before? She was incredibly beautiful, but it was more than that—the way she carried herself was familiar, the smirk that seemed to lie in wait even behind her composed features.

The vampire sighed loudly as she stepped over the puddle of vampire goo.

"Who got trigger happy?" she asked, nodding down to the blood.

"He was dead when we came in, ma'am," said one of the tactical vamps.

"Oh?" said the vampire. Her eyes flicked to the newborns. "And who killed him?"

"I did," Mac said quickly. His voice sounded as jittery as ever. "He was my progeny—I had the right to his life. Now what the hell do you guys want?"

The redhead lifted an arched eyebrow. "Don't take a tone with me. You idiots are running amok. You're wanted in several states. My Maker is the Sheriff of this Area, and she doesn't like it when you break her laws."

Sasha swallowed. If they were Authority…then she rose from behind the desk, hands up when guns were trained on her next. She tossed the stake onto the carpeted ground between her and the vampires.

"I killed that vampire. He was about to kill me," said Sasha. She didn't mean to swallow so thickly, so visibly. She nodded to Mac. "He kidnapped me from Fangtasia last night,"

The redheaded vampire's lazy, bored smile dropped. "Fangtasia?"

"Yes," she said, licking her dry lips. This _had_ to work now. "And I should thank you. I doubt Eric will be pleased when he finds out about all this. He doesn't like it when others touch what's his,"

"Eric," repeated the redhead. She sauntered forward, sniffing her deliberately. "You can't mean Eric Northman?"

"Quite well, yes," Sasha said stoically, though all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball of pain and cry. She could see the doubt in the vampire's eyes, and she couldn't blaeme her. She didn't have Eric's blood in her, didn't smell like him, "I tried telling _them_ that, but these _idiots_ don't even recognize vampire authority,"

"Yes, they'll be dealt with," said the vampire. She ran her eyes over Sasha. "Have we met before?"

"No," said Sasha. The vampire fixed her with a calculating look she didn't like. She leaned down until she was face to face with Sasha, so close Sasha could count the shades of green in her eyes.

The vampire smirked.

"Arrest the newborns. I'll take care of the human,"

Sasha was full of trepidation as she was escorted out of the abandoned bank. The night air was a welcome reprieve from the musty vault she'd been tossed into, and she sucked in greedy gulps off fresh air. One of the guards carried her, and eliminating pressure on her sprained ankle. Tears stung in her eyes as she felt relief blossom through her.

The vampire placed her in the back of one of three vans, silent as the night that hung around them but mercifully gentle. When she thanked him, his head snapped in her direction. He seemed at a loss for words, and so he simply nodded in acknowledgment. Then he climbed in and sat next to her, his weapon in his lap. The redheaded vampire in charge joined them, sitting across form her. She was still as a statue, and even once the engine started, she remained silent, eyes trained on Sasha. She only spoke once, to introduce herself as Meredith.

As they drove, Sasha searched for some clue as to where she was. But the only windows in the van were up front, and she couldn't make out much from her seat. Craned her neck ached, and so she simply sat back and hoped for the best. She knew she was out of Eric's Area, and that was all that really mattered. She knew she was now in Area Four; though it would be one over from Eric's, it didn't help her geographically. She wasn't familiar with how Louisiana was split up. As unsettled as she was, this reprieve of safety turned her attention to the aches and pains of her body, and she grew too distracted to dwell on it too much.

Soon they were pulling up to a tall apartment building. It was clearly luxurious and, by the vampire guards posted outside of the building, Sasha concluded owned by the mystery Sheriff of the Area. They were dropped off there, and the same guard carried her into the building.

The building's lobby was dressed nearly distressingly in floor to ceiling white, with the occasional gleaming red accent—a vase, frames of artwork, the glossy surface of the front desk. The vampire sitting at the desk simply glanced at them disinterestedly. When he found Sasha, still in her arms of the guard, his lip curled quite tellingly.

"Make sure it doesn't dirty up the floors. The marble was just waxed," he called to them. Sasha picked up that she was the 'it', and her mouth tightened. So these vampires weren't exactly human-friendly, either. It didn't matter.

"Call up and announce us," said Meredith by way of answer. The vampire nodded, picking up the phone at once.

Meredith leading them, Sasha was brought into an elevator by the guard that carried her. They rode the elevator for a good few minutes, all the way up to the penthouse. Like the lobby, it was decorated in an insane amount of white, punctuated by only a few red items. When they stepped out into the grand apartment, the vampire placed her on her feet at Meredith's command. When he was ordered to leave, Sasha thought he might have looked a little sorry.

Sasha watched him go, feeling a little less certain of herself as she did. Then she cleared her throat.

"So, if I could get cleaned up, and then maybe use a phone, I could work on getting out of your hair," she proposed.

Meredith smiled the type of smile that didn't settle any of the anxiety bubbling up inside of her. It was mischievous, and not in a way the playful way that invited her to join. The vampire did not answer her, but a new voice:

"Darling, you've finally returned,"

The vampire that walked into the room looked around Sasha's age, if not a little younger. She had long, fine blond hair and steel grey eyes. Her figure was almost doll-like in its perfect proportions, showcased in her tight beige silk gown and sheer robe.

"Oh, Ted mentioned a guest when he rang. This is her, I presume?" continued the vampire Sasha assumed was the Sheriff of the Area.

"You have the honor of addressing Catherine Meridian, Sheriff of Area Four," said Meredith. Is Sasha had been in her right state of mind, she would have had difficulty keeping from rolling her eyes. Sheriff was a position of authority without a doubt, but Meredith was acing like she as rolling out the carpet for the fucking Queen. From what she sensed, Catherine wasn't even old enough to be treated with such regard.

"Sheriff," said Sasha, dipping her head as much as she could. Her feelings aside, in her state she knew it was best to kiss ass however was expected of her. She winced at the pain the movement caused.

"She looks terrible," said Catherine, regarding her with a quick gaze. Her eyes continued on to her newborn. "Meredith, I sincerely hope you didn't think I'd possibly want the newborn's sloppy seconds,"

"Not at all, Mistress," said Meredith as Catherine moved to lounge on the cherry red leather couch. Her tone was dry. "She's already claimed, you see,"

"Oh?" Catherine asked disinterestedly, reaching for the nearest magazine. "And so what? You thought you'd do a good deed and return her to her vampire? I'm sure that could have been done without rousing me,"

"She says she's claimed by Eric Northman, Mistress,"

Catherine's finger froze mid-turn of page, and her eyes snapped back to Sasha. Her eyes raked over once again, this time more deliberately. Then she snorted. " _Her_? Impossible,"

"That's what I thought, too," smirked Meredith. She moved to stand behind Sasha, raking her nose up along Sasha's neck. "She doesn't smell like she has his blood, either. At least not enough to really give off a strong sense of a claim,"

"Eric Northman doesn't claim humans," dismissed Catherine. Her tone was icy as she continued, "He's not that type of vampire. He's a thousand years old—if he toys with something or someone, he doesn't need a claim for his territory to be respected. And he doesn't go around wasting his blood on little harlot fangbangers, either,"

 _Shit_. Sasha's blood turned as icy as Catherine's tone of voice.

 _Think._

"Like you said," said Sasha. It was all she could to do remain standing, but she powered through. "Eric doesn't need a claim—vampires respect what's his even without one. Those newborns that took me just didn't respect anything or anyone. They're crazy, they're blood-addicted,"

"At least that part's true," conceded Meredith. She'd stepped away, moving to lounge against a tall pillar that overlooked the living room. "They showed all the signs, Mistress. They're being held downstairs and await your judgment,"

"Newborns," sighed Catherine. "Remember when The Blood meant something? When our race championed vampires like Eric Northman? How have we come turn the weakest, most disgusting humans? I shouldn't be surprised, not when I remember who's King,"

King. King Bill Compton. Wait a minute…

"Mistress, please," said Meredith, tilting her head towards Sasha. It sounded like a reminder.

"Oh, please. If I don't decide to end her for her insubordination, I will glamor her. Or maybe I should turn her over to him; he won't be pleased to find out some fangbanger has been spouting his name all over the place, acting like she means something to him," said Catherine. "Let me guess, human. Eric looked at you once in Fangtasia, and you think you're special now? Maybe he drank from you, maybe he bedded you—that doesn't make you _his_ ,"

"Wait—King Compton's coronation. That's where I've seen you before!" exclaimed Sasha. Her eyes were on Meredith. She knew now why the vampire appeared so familiar to her. She'd seen her there, at the party. Meredith raised an eyebrow. "I saw you there!"

" _You_ were there?" asked Meredith, doubt ringing clear as day.

"Yes—you wore a red gown," remembered Sasha. "Valentino, I think,"

Meredith shot a glance at her Maker. Sasha was right. She _had_ seen her there.

"Mistress, what if…?"  
"Eric claiming a human? It's unheard of!" argued Catherine. But even Sasha heard the doubt there. "She doesn't have his blood!"

"There are other ways of claiming someone," said Sasha. That was the wrong thing to say. Catherine stood in front of her the next moment, fangs bared. They were both the same height, and she was startled to find that the vampire held more than just contempt for her, but hatred, too.

What the hell? Was she that protective of vampire culture, that she couldn't handle the thought of a vampire like Eric claiming a human? Because vampires claimed human for far less than love, most of the time. A claim could mean simple possession just as it could love—usually it did.  
Catherine sneered, inhaling deeply. Then she froze. "I _do_ smell him on you," she sounded shocked, and even Sasha was a little surprised. Eric had manhandled her a bit more than she'd appreciated some twenty-four hours ago—had that stuck? Did his scent still really cling to her? She prayed to whoever listened it did. "Your blood. It smells like him—impossible,"

Sasha agreed. That was impossible. Eric had given her his blood some weeks ago, but that had been topically. There was no way its scent was mingled in with her blood.

But Meredith frowned. "I don't smell him,"

"When you've been intimate with him as I have, then you know his scent. It's unmistakable, Meredith," snapped Catherine. She sounded absolutely furious.

But now Sasha understood. This had to be some psycho ex-girlfriend, and she was now pissed because the vampire she was still so obviously crazy about had claimed a human—something apparently out of his usual MO. In trying to save herself by using Eric's name, Sasha had unknowingly challenged a Sheriff's jealousy.

Just what were the odds? God—or the Goddess Cookie loved mentioning so much—whoever it was that was up there, Sasha didn't think they were so fond of her.

 _Fuck me. Eric Northman's sycho ex-girlfriend? Fucking figures._ It was disconcerting, the sheer misfortune of it all, and Sasha hoped she hadn't gotten herself into deeper trouble now by bringing up Eric in the first place.

Meredith was still eyeing her with a frown—she clearly couldn't smell Eric on her. But Catherine could—or thought she could, anyway—and that was all that mattered for the moment. Because, Sasha was certain, for now, that was all that kept her alive.

Her chin up, every effort focused on keeping her voice from quivering, Sasha met Sheriff Catherine Meridian's fierce gaze head on.

"Fine. Let's call him,"

* * *

 **Hiiiiiiii. So I can't tell you all how pleased I am in the responses to this story-the reviews literally make me tear up. I say it often, but i mean that. I tear up when i'm excited/genuinely happy, and this is one of the things that does it for me. so THANK YOU.**

 _Lucy_ **: sorry about the cliffhanger! Honestly they often just happen as natural cut-offs otherwise my chapters will run on 20,000+ thousand words LOL. Sasha definitely has the potential to be a powerful witch...but it won't come easily to her, like most things in life. Hope you felt vindicated with the Daniel thing lol and Pam is...well Pam. She doesn't care about anyone but herself and Eric. Especially Eric. The cocaine costume made me laugh too, so i was hoping i wouldn't be the only one. thanks for taking the time to review!**

 _Guest:_ **Glad you're hooked. I've been there, reading all night a fic when i probably should have been sleeping, so it's so heartening to read you liked it enough to stay up all night reading mine!**

 _Guest:_ **Sasha isn't so pleased about getting roofied either!**

 _Liza:_ **Cookie definitely has her own agenda. As for Pam, ahhh, _Pam_. ;)**

 _bubu-chibi-chan_ : **Don't lose hope! I have so much planned for this story and the next, i won't be letting this die LOL. Hot scenes will come...in the future. And they will be more intense in the taste in this chapter, hahaha. As far as the mixed-race thing goes...look, i'm mixed race myself. And it's not always easy, with how people sometimes treat you. For me, personally, it's been something that has been awkward to juggle. Both of my parents are only one thing, and so they can't directly relate to me. I speak two languages, and i am of two cultures. It isn't always easy, and most of the time i don't see people who look like me or represent me or i can really relate to etc. in etc, so it's important to me. It will actually become a part of the overall arc of the story.**

 _A New Fan_ **: Welcome to the story! Glad you love Sasha! And yes! Your review made me realize i might not have mentioned this before, but YES LANA! lol. I love all of her albums, but fun fact for the story: _Lust for Life_ is taken from the album and actually applies more to Eric's character than Sasha's for this story!**


	18. Chapter 18

_**Chapter 18: The Rescue**_

There was an itch under his skin that Eric just couldn't scratch. He was so restless he finally decided he needed away from Fangtasia, as he'd been cooped up in the bar for nigh on seventy-two hours. He'd go for a drive at the very least, and if it was late and he was far out enough he'd retire to his home for the day. Home; he'd never had any sentimental attachment to the luxury apartment, but it's peace and quiet made him long for its walls.

"Pam, I'm going out," he told her as he grabbed his keys from his office and slipped a black leather jacket over his shoulders. "When I'm back tomorrow night, you and I will need to talk,"

"About?" drawled Pam. Eric paused, his hands freezing where he'd been fixing the collar of his jacket. His eyes flicked to his progeny, looking her over with mild suspicion.

"What did you do?"  
Pam made a show of checking her nails. "Me? Nothing. But apparently I'm wrong if you wanted to talk to me about something. You sound serious, Daddy,"

Eric studied her for a moment longer. She was trying to hide it from him, but guilt was simmering somewhere below the surface of their bond.

"About Sasha Buckley,"

"Of fucking course," she muttered, though her tone didn't hold its usual vehemence.

"You were right," said Eric, clearing his throat. He rolled his eyes when her eyes threatened to pop out of her skull. "She isn't what I thought. But I don't care to talk about it now,"

He turned to leave, but she called him back. Then she shook her head.

"Never mind. It's nothing," she said. She strutted passed him, and he considered pressing her. But that stifling feeling was still with him, that pressing need to just _get out_ , and it would have to wait until another time.

As Eric crossed the parking lot to his car, he found that there was one too many cars parked. There was his, Pam's, and Gingers and a few others he recognized as belonging to his employees. But the 69 Chevy Camaro that was parked at the end of the lot shouldn't have been there, for more than one reason.

His eyes swept the paring lot, narrowing as he searched for Sasha Buckley. He didn't hear her, and he couldn't smell or see her either. Frowning, he sauntered over to her car. Even from a distance he could tell it was empty— _crack!_ Eric paused, bending down to pick up what he'd stepped on. A pink Blackberry. The screen was cracked now, but the screen lit feebly back at him. For a moment Eric studied the background image; it was obviously taken by Sasha, judging by the odd angel of the frame, and she was smiling brightly as leaned back against a vampire Eric had already met: James. They both looked happy, at a beach somewhere, an odd amount of unnatural lighting coloring the ocean and sand behind them.

His eyes snapped back to her car. When he reached for the handle, he found it was locked. Unbidden, his dream returned to him, the steamy encounter with Sasha that had ended with her begging for his help.

What if…?

Maybe he was headed straight for a trap, maybe he wasn't, but Eric soon found himself in his car and speeding straight to Bon Temps. Though he hadn't visited it in over a decade, he remembered the road to Collette Montgomery's house very well, and some twenty minutes later he was pulling into the driveway. For a moment he glared at the house, shutting the engine of his car so he could better listen: all was quiet. There wasn't a heartbeat to be heard.

Stepping out, Eric crossed to the broken front steps, shrugging off weak threads of magic from a long since failed ward, moving straight for the front door. He pushed it open, but he was met by an invisible force that prevented him from moving forward.

He growled—how was this possible, when the witch who owned the house was dead? Then the witch in question appeared before him so suddenly even he was startled and retreated a step back.

"Collette Montgomery," he bit out, shaking his head. "I think you have some explaining to do,"

"I owe you nothing, vampire," said Collette with all the vicious disgust she could muster up. "Where is she?"

Eric slipped out of his defensive crouch. He now understood how she had been able to sneak up on him, despite the fact that he had heard no heart beats. She didn't have one; he was speaking to a ghost. She was the strongest ghost he'd seen in years, marked by how…full and fleshed out she looked. Even vampires, despite not having a heartbeat, emanated some sort of presence. Ghosts did not, at least not on the type of frequency vampires picked up.

"So you are dead after all," said Eric. "Then the house belongs to another now. Your granddaughter?"

"If you've harmed her, Northman, I swear I will find a way to make you pay," hissed Collette.

"I've done nothing but help your granddaughter, foolish as that might have been," said Eric. His fangs were out again, drawn out by insult now. "It's your granddaughter that should be answering to _me_. Where is she?"

"You don't have her?" exclaimed Collette. She cursed under her breath, and Eric noticed that she appeared rather…disheveled for a ghost.

"And she isn't with you," muttered Eric. He ran a hand over his mouth. Maybe this was a trap after all, or maybe…

 _Go back to Fangtasia. Fuck Sasha Buckley, fuck this witchcraft shit, and live your life in peace._

"She was coming to see _you_ last I spoke to her. She should have been home well before midnight, but she wasn't. When she didn't return I figured she…I figured that she was with you," admitted Collette, as though the words actually pained her to say. Then she shook her head, eyes glossy. "I have a very weak connection to her. And last night it—she was in pain. And a whole lot of it. It hasn't stopped since,"

She paused, then looked at him in a way he immediately hated. She began, "I—I am a ghost. I am bound to this house,"

"Don't," warned Eric. He could already see where this was going. "Don't you dare ask me to—"

"She trusts you, Northman. Even though I begged her not to. And from what she tells me, she thinks you might feel the same, that you at least like her enough that you keep helping her,"

Eric snorted. If Sasha Buckley thought that he trusted her…well, any trust he'd had in her died the second he'd found out she was a witch, that she'd _lied_ to him. Repeatedly.

Collette couldn't stand him when she was alive; Eric knew ghosts didn't mature with death. They became volatile, their every feeling from life becoming more intense with time. It was what led even the most docile of ghosts to eventually turn hostile or dangerous. If Cookie had hated him then, the feeling had only soured since. For her to be asking him to go after her granddaughter…

 _She was in pain. It hasn't stopped since._

Fuck.

"Even if I wanted to—I'm not bound to her by blood. I wouldn't know where to search for her," said Eric. But even as he said so, he was thinking that the first place to start would be to pull the surveillance tapes from the parking lot, find whoever had taken her in the first place…

He'd ask Pam if she'd seen anything off, as his progeny had been working the door—

Eric's eyes fell shut. _Pamela._ She'd been acting strange since last night. This had her written all over it…what had she done? She was incredibly protective—insanely so against anyone she deemed dangerous to her Maker, and she hadn't made it a secret that his interest in Sasha had her worried her. Had she finally taken matters into her own hands? It was possible. If his progeny was responsible, then he really couldn't just let go.

"I will make some inquiries—" Eric broke off as his phone rang.

"You can't just ask around—you have to _find_ her! If you know she's my granddaughter, then that means you know what she is!"

"Oh, I am perfectly aware," snapped Eric. He wrenched his phone from his pocket. An unknown number. He stared at it briefly, then answered it with a biting, " _What?_ "

" _Now that is just no way to answer an old friend…an old lover,_ "

Eric frowned, thrown for a moment. The voice was faintly accented, English he thought, with a hint of something else. And old lover…this wouldn't be the first time he'd changed his number because of some stalker-ish fangbanger. He was incredibly close to just hanging up.

"Who the hell am I speaking to?"

There was a moment of silence. Then, demurely, " _Eric, it's Catherine_."

Catherine? _Catherine_.

"Catherine," he greeted, meeting Collette's eyes briefly. "I apologize. You've caught me at a bad time,"

" _I'm sorry to hear that. Trouble in your Area? I've had some trouble with newborns running rampant in my own,_ "

"Something to that affect," said Eric curtly.

"Northman," hissed Collette, trying to recapture his attention.

"A moment," he replied back. Then, into the phone, "Listen, Catherine, I can't speak now. I did speak to your progeny at Compton's coronation, and she expressed your interest in speaking to me. As soon as I have a spare moment—"

" _Yes, yes_ ," dismissed Catherine. " _A Sheriff's life is never dull, is it? Well, you sound busy so I'll let you go. Although before I do, you might be interested in a having a bit of a laugh, to ease your night. I have a human here with me that's been telling me the most fascinating stories,"_

"Oh?" Eric asked distractedly. Collette looked more distressed than ever, wringing her hands impatiently.

"Pain. She's in so much pain," she murmured, pacing the length of the porch. "My poor grandbaby is in agony and I can't help her. Goddess why!"

" _Yes. Would you believe me if I told you she says she belongs to_ you _, that you have some sort of flimsy claim on her?"_ laughed Catherine. Eric froze in place.

"What?" he gritted out.

" _Oh yes. Granted, she smells a little like you—like you might have had her just the once and moved on… but can you believe she's going around saying she belongs to you? I can kill her myself, but I thought you might want to deal with such a—"_

 _"_ I'm driving over now," Eric managed to bite out through his fury. Then he hung up, his long legs already having taken him halfway to the car.

"Wait—Northman! Where are you going?" Shouted Collette. "My granddaughter—"

"—will find herself wishing she'd never left her precious King by the time I am through with her," he called over his shoulder. He was peeling out of the driveway seconds later, his jaw set harshly as he checked the clock on the dashboard. It was nearly a two-hour drive to Alexandria. He'd make it in just over one.

* * *

Sasha was so delirious from pain that she missed the exchange between Catherine and Eric. Her focus was on keeping herself from crying, on fighting the pain and being strong now. When she was somewhere safe she'd give into it all, but for now she couldn't give these vampires a single excuse to harm her any further. Or the satisfaction her suffering might give them. It was already clear Catherine found her repulsive.

Her eyes were fluttering shut again…

"…can't believe he's actually coming here…don't think it's _for_ her do you?"

A weak smile found its way to her lips. _Eric_. He was coming for her, just like she knew he would.

She passed out again.

* * *

It was uncommon for Sheriffs to see each other outside of business. Vampires were territorial in nature, and once in power didn't like to see that power challenged; a foreign Sheriff, even of the same state, always raised eyebrows in foreign territory, particularly without invitation. Monarchs especially didn't like underlings gathering behind each other's backs, often going to great and conniving lengths to appoint Sheriffs that didn't necessarily like each other, so to lessen the chance of a coordinated revolt. And so Eric had not seen Catherine Meridian often over the years, kept apart by the status of their positions. The last time he'd seen her in person had been some twelve or so years ago at a gathering at the Queen's.

Catherine's obsession with him hadn't faded over two hundred years after its inception, which was why he tended to avoid her even at gatherings. Her infatuation with him had long since run its course of amusement for him, and she was one of the very few people that had ever incited Pam's pure, unadulterated hatred. He stayed away, used every excuse to, and for the undead life of him he couldn't figure out just how Sasha Buckley had ended up in Area Four, and under the roof of Sheriff.

She was a young Sheriff, Catherine, but she was ruthless and cunning and incredibly ambitious, traits that served her well. The Queen had taken an immediate liking to her, having seen something of herself in the young vampire, and had appointed her Sheriff. But Eric knew her better than most, and he knew that there was a certain…instability that ran beneath her pretty fair skin, and it was something he was careful of when dealing with her, if only because of her position. Sasha might have uttered his name to save herself from some situation or other but she might have actually condemned herself to a terrible fate—Catherine Meridian was the kind of crazy psycho bitch that even Pam was weary of.

Eric stepped out of his car and tossed the keys to an eager valet, heading straight for the building he knew she owned.

"Sheriff Northman!" he was greeted by a thin male vampire behind the desk, who immediately stood and dipped his head respectfully.

"Sheriff Meridian is awaiting your arrival in the penthouse—"

Eric brushed passed the vampire when he went to call the elevator for him, too impatient to wait. If there had been stairs, he would have taken them. But the elevator ride gave him the opportunity to school his features, to relax some of the tension in his body. He still had no idea what he was walking into, and there was every chance that he would have to lie and play a part the second he stepped into his fellow Sheriff's presence.

Catherine's apartment reflected who she was: neat, lofty, beautiful. But as he stepped out of the apartment, Eric didn't notice any of that. The careful stoic mask he'd slipped onto cracked faster than he could have anticipated as his eyes immediate found Sasha's limp body on a dais.

Eric was leaning over her a moment later, nostrils flaring as he took in her every injury. Her cheek was mottled purple from the blood vessels broken beneath the skin at her cheekbone. Her bottom lip cracked, her eyes were puffy from tears, bags under them heavy. She still wore her costume from the previous night, though it was filthy now, torn in some places. She had a broken finger on her left hand; the swelling worried him, trapped as it was by that ring she always wore. And those were the injuries he could see.

He touched the uninjured side of her face lightly. Her eyes fluttered open weakly, reacting to the coolness of his feather-light touch.

"Eric?" she whispered.

"You are in so much trouble, Sasha Buckley," he murmured, brushing a strand of frizzy, half curly, half straight hair out of her face. Tears flowed from her eyes, but Eric thought they were of relief.

"Sheriff,"

Eric glanced over his shoulder, still hunched over Sasha, tracking Catherine's movements. They were coming from another room, she and her progeny, the latter carrying a tray of blood-filled champagne flutes.

"Why wasn't she given medical attention?" he asked sharply.

Catherine's eyes widened in surprise, lip curling. "You're not saying she's _yours_ , are you?"

"You said you smelled me on her, did you not?" returned Eric.

"Well yes but, I was to take the word of a human? You've never claimed humans before!" whined Catherine. She turned away, her sheer robe swishing prettily around her calves as she did. She reached for a gold tray. "Blood?" she added, holding up a flute.

"No, thank you," Eric said coldly. "What happened to her?"

"Some newborns," said Catherine coolly, sipping on her blood. He could hear the jealousy simmer behind her every word, see it in her very eyes. "Apparently they kidnapped her right out from your Area. I have them in custody; they've been touring the nearby states, snatching up humans left and right. It was starting to get a little public, and we'd been watching them for some time—of course I couldn't act until they were back in my Area,"

"Of course," repeated Eric, just barely managing to restrain his mocking tone. He'd gotten the office memo, so to speak, about a rumor of a gang of unrestrained newborns. They hadn't happened into his Area until last night, it seemed, and so he had not concerned himself with the matter. "And they are where now? The newborns?"

"In custody. My progeny, Meredith, led an incredibly successful raid against the newborn's nest. She'd been tracking them ever since they entered my Area four nights ago,"

"And why wait so long to act, then?" asked Eric.

"With all due respect, Sheriff," said Meredith, taking a flute of blood for herself. "It would have been useless to arrest them without catching them actually breaking AVL law,"

His jaw tightened. Eric's eyes flicked back down to the beaten witch, and he said to Catherine, "Very well. I want the vampire that did this to her,"

"I'm afraid that will be difficult, Sheriff," said Meredith, green eyes practically glowing with amusement. "She killed him,"

He moved to sit next to her, letting her rest her against his bicep. Eric's fingers, which had been trailing down Sasha's arm to her hand, paused at her wrist. _Fucking hell, Sasha._ "And he is the one who took her?

"No," admitted Catherine. "We have the ringleader in custody. He was the one that took her from your club,"

"Then it is him I want," said Eric. "Preferably in one piece. There's no fun in breaking what has already been broken,"

Catherine looked upset at this, and she threw herself down onto the nearest couch, tapping her fingers along its back. "So it's true? She is yours, true and proper?"

Sasha's hand jerked in his own, fingers threading through his just enough to squeeze weakly. Her eyes had opened again, just a little. She was lucid enough to understand what was happening around her.

"Yes," said Eric. "I did not think it necessary to claim her by blood. I like seeing the every mark I leave on her, you see. With my blood in her system them wouldn't last more than an hour," he glanced back down at Sasha. "Naturally, I will have to remedy that immediately, wouldn't you agree, darling?"

Sasha only nodded weakly.

"Vampires are not what they once were," concluded Eric, turning his attention back to Catherine. "The AVL can say what they like, but I fear we are stepping further and further away from what it means to be civilized by our terms,"

"Agreed," said Catherine, and he was somewhat taken aback by her passion as he leaned forward. "It's precisely this that I wished to speak to you about—"

Eric rose. "I'm afraid that will have to wait another time, Catherine," he said as politely as he could manage.

"Yes, but—"

"But it will have to wait another time. It will be dawn soon, and I must return to my own post. I'm afraid I left my Area quite suddenly," Eric reached for her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles in an attempt to soften her. His actions did so immediately as she eagerly let him take her hand, kept it against this lips for as long as she could. "I promise we will speak another time, dear,"

"Of course, Eric. I must seem like an impatient newborn to your thousand years," said Catherine, suddenly bashful as she too stood. Her shy smile evaporated the second he turned to pick up Sasha in his arms. Sasha whimpered as he moved her, her face burying in his neck. He could feel her shiver and tremble; though she did not make another sound, he could feel her wet tears against his neck. He could easily imagine she'd passed the threshold of her tolerance for pain.

Catherine watched him go to the elevator, her gaze incredibly wistful as she did so. Her progeny stood just behind her, watching with her usual calculating gaze.

"I'll have the vampire in question delivered tomorrow night,"

"Excellent," called Eric, just as the elevator doors separated them.

* * *

Despite his every attempt to drag her into conversation, Sasha passed out after that. Eric was only reassured by her heartbeat, but after a twenty minutes of being attuned to it, he ascertained it was growing weaker. With one hand on the wheel, her reached a hand to her head, teasing his fingers through her tangled hair to feel her skull. He checked her eyes.

" _Dammit_ ," he hissed, nearly crushing the steering wheel with the hand still on it. The girl was lucky to be breathing at all; he suspected that her witch blood had a lot to do with why she was at all. Eric estimated he still had an hour or two to make up his mind to his next course of action.

It was as Eric arrived home that he made up his mind. He reaching into his coat pocket, he took out Sasha's phone, searching through the contacts for a name in particular. When he found it, he called it.

" _Little bird, bit early to be callin',_ " greeted the vampire Eoin McGinty.

"It's Eric Northman,"

" _Where's Sasha?_ "

"Unable to answer the phone. Now tell me one thing, and tell it to me now: Does the King of California have a claim on Sasha Buckley or not?"

" _That is none of your bloody concern, Sheriff—_ "

"She is sitting next to me, half-dead in my car right now. My blood will save her life, but I will not do so at the possible expense of my progeny or myself if your king—"

" _What the fuck happened to her?"_ demanded Eoin. "If you so much as—"

"Do not threaten _me_ , when I am once again acting as her savior. You vampires let your precious little bird leave the nest, and now I am the one dealing with her time and again. I will ask you one more time: does the king have a legitimate claim on her or not?

There was a string of Irish curses on the other end.

" _Do whatever you bloody well must. Just save her, Northman_ ,"

* * *

Pam was already waiting for him by the time he made it up into his apartment. He could feel her trepidation—he'd summoned her twenty minutes ago through their bond. She sprung up from her perch on the couch looking worried—he knew the pain he had caused her with the force of his summoning. It had not been a gentle suggestion to join him.

"Eric what—oh my god," Pam blanched, seeing Sasha in his arms.

"What the hell happened?" she asked, following on his heels as he took the witch to his bedroom.

"I thought you might tell me," he snapped at her.

"I— _I_ —didn't do this to her!" defended his progeny. Pam's nose wrinkled as she deposited Sasha onto the center of his bed. "Jesus Christ she looks like she got hit by a bus,"

"Sasha, wake up," commanded Eric, ignoring Pam now. "Sasha!"

She stirred, moaning pitifully as she did so.

"Hurts, Eric," she whispered. More tears spilled out from the corners of her eyes, and he'd be damned if he didn't feel a crack of pain on her behalf. For a human…she'd held up considerably well in fight of such agony.

"I know," he told her. "Which is why you will take what I'm about to offer you,"

" _No…_ " she whined. Even in her state she understood what he was proposing. Pam wasn't mistaken either. She flashed to the other side of the bed, facing him with a stricken look.

" _No_ Eric, you can't—Get her to a human hospital and try her luck there—call Ludwig if you have to but you can't—"

"Be silent, Pamela. You will wait for me outside," He told her. Pam's blue eyes threatened to well with blood, but she dipped her head and was gone the next second. Eric turned back is attention to Sasha, who was crying and trying to shake her head.

"Don't do that," said Eric, catching her chin firmly in his grasp. "You'll make things worse. I know what you are, Sasha. Now you will drink from me and we can pretend that I am giving you the option, or I will force-feed you my blood until you are healed. _That_ is the only choice I give you. Which will it be?"

* * *

 _Won't you…come see about me? I'll be alone, dancing you know it baby!_

 _Tell me you troubles and doubts…giving me everything inside and out and…Love's strange so real in the dark…think of the tender things that we were working on…_

 _Sasha wasn't sure how long she was dancing for. She just knew that her body was light as a feather, that she was in a room that wasn't a room, that there was a haze like from a smoke machine, that everything was the prettiest pinks, violets, blues…she kept dancing._

 _Slow change, may pull us apart…when the light get into you heart baby…_

 _Don't you…forget about me…_

 _Don't don't don't don't_

 _Don't you…forget about me…_

 _"Open your eyes, sweetheart,"_

 _Sasha did, seeing the same colors and haze that she had with her eyes closed. She kept dancing, smiling when she saw Jim Kerr singing. She danced and spun, finding who had spoken. He was handsome, somewhere in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, tall, lithe and blond. His curly hair and bright blue eyes sparkled with amusement._

 _"You are vastly interesting,"_

 _"Thank you," said Sasha. She kept dancing, kept riding the feeling of weightlessness she felt. The man joined her, dancing beside her._

 _"You're not even going to ask who I am?" he asked, laughing._

 _"Why would I? I'm dreaming,"_

 _…rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling.._

 _Down, down, down._

 _"Perhaps. That doesn't make me not real," said the man. Sasha simply shrugged; her hands twisted up above her hands, her hips swaying to the beat. "And look at you—I should have known. You make even Simple Minds sultry. It really is a gift,"_

 _Sasha merely shrugged again, not sure why this man insisted on talking so much. She just wanted to keep dancing._

 _"I will definitely be keeping an eye out for you, sweetheart," grinned the man. "But, for now…"_

 _He placed his index and middle finger to her forehead and pushed—_

Sasha woke with a yawn, stretching and yowling like a kitten as her body woke up too. She sighed, burying further under the plush black cashmere blanket, staring up at the ceiling with a smile she couldn't quite place. It had been how long since she'd woken up like this? Feeling this good? There was a weightlessness about her, and urge to give into more than just smiles—she wanted to laugh and not stop.

Where was she, even?

She realized belatedly that she was naked save for a white t-shirt, and for a moment she _did_ giggle. It was like she could feel each and every single soft thread of the blanket, could savor every spot of her arms and legs and thighs, the gentle rubbing of the t-shirt against her pebbled nipples…

"Evening,"

She sat up in surprise, finding Eric Northman stepping out of an adjoining bathroom. At least she guessed it was a bathroom, because he stepped out naked save for a white towel wrapped around his waist. Sasha froze, her heart tripping over itself as she tracked glistening drops of water trail down the lines of muscle on his abdomen…down the V of his hips…

She frowned, lifting the blankets of herself enough to peer at herself. Yep. Definitely naked. How—when…? _Oh._ She remembered suddenly the events of the past few nights.

"So this my blood-fueled sex dream, is it?" she groaned. Eric lifted an eyebrow at her.

"This is no dream, witch," he told her, moving to the dressed opposite the bed. When he dropped the towel from his waist to the floor, her eyes followed, coming to rest on a his chiseled ass. Jesus Christ—there was every chance Eric Northman had stood in as a butt model for Michelangelo.

She remembered that he had literally just told her that this was no dream, that he'd called her witch, and she turned away, her body flushing. Eric smirked at her over his shoulder.

"I call you a witch and that's what's on your mind?" he taunted her.

This time when she flushed, it was in embarrassment.

It was quickly replaced by scorn. She threw the covers off of herself, stomping over to him, one hand tugging the hem of the t-shirt to keep it in place.

"You made me drink from you!" she accused.

"And you lied to me. Repeatedly."

"Because I should have told you the truth? I don't owe you anything!" she argued. She blinked rapidly, fighting a haze threatening to befall her, like she'd taken one too many shots in rapid succession and they were now catching up to her.

"Maybe not before," said Eric, unconcerned with propriety as he dressed in front of her. She hated she noticed he hadn't slipped on any form of underwear before slipping his jeans on. That goddamn, fucker. "But now… How much is your life worth to you?" His eyes dragged over her, pausing on her pebbled nipples poking through her— _his_ —shirt. "Because I'm certain we can work out some acceptable form of payment,"

"You ass!" she exclaimed, reaching out to slap him. Eric caught her hand easily, tugging her into his bare chest. The hemline of her shirt danced dangerously high as she stood on the tips of her toes, her back slightly arched to meet his gaze.

"Tell me, witch, that I did not act the fool—a second time—to get you out of your own mess,"

She met his fierce gaze haughtily, even if she felt somewhat dizzy. Was she…was it possible she was still somehow drugged from that newborn's roofie?

 _You just had who knows how much of a thousand year old vampire's blood_ , she realized. _You're lucky you're even standing your two feet, girl._

"Oh please. You only came running because of what I am, and if you think for a single moment that you have some sort of, I don't know, ownership over me—"

"I came for you because you were in danger. In pain. Again. Don't pull that shit with me, not when _you_ used _my_ name,"

Sasha frowned, trying to pull away from him. She was a little surprised when Eric let go of her, let her put distance between them. It just wasn't fair—she was feeling _so much_ right now, between his blood and her own hunger—god she was starving—and sex—he still had yet to put a goddam shirt on—and she wanted to keep sleeping but she also wanted to just run through the streets and scream and cry and laugh and sing and weep—

Eric blinked a few times, and she knew he was feeling her every emotion and likely understanding only a third of it all. Maybe less.

"Just this once. Be completely honest with me," said Eric. "Be honest with _yourself_ —I've earned this, haven't I?"

"I—" But her glare, her very argument, died before it was fully formed. Eric was watching her with a strange expression—did she dare say imploringly?—and she didn't know that she could deny his request. She felt her fight leave her.

 _You did figure he'd learn the truth, after all of this. And he did come, at his own risk. Again._

"I don't know where to start," she admitted, observing her nails. They were all the same length, shiny and the healthiest she'd ever seen them; oh the wonders of thousand year old vampire blood. She frowned; where all her old scars gone? Every beauty mark? "I've never really…I've never told anyone everything. Even Jack…I told him bits and pieces, mostly,"

Eric stared at her quizzically for a moment. Then he was on his feet.

"We will start in the kitchen,"

"Huh?"

"The kitchen. You're absolutely ravenous, which is to be expected after all the healing your body has gone through under such a condensed period of time. I find your kind talks better when they've eaten,"

"You're not wrong," said Sasha, though she still frowned. That damned bond was already annoying her—a smirk in her direction gave her the impression Eric understood her perfectly. She traipsed after him, this time taking a good look at the apartment as he led her through it. It dimly occurred to her she was still pretty naked.

Unsurprisingly, it was beautiful. Simple in design, it was a tasteful play of light and dark, from the dark, polished floorboards that felt almost buttery beneath her bear feet they were so smooth, to the crème walls and furniture.

"Your place is gorgeous," she admired, Eric glanced at her over his shoulder, shrugging.

"It's all right,"

"It's not like you to be so modest," she commented. The hallway opened up to the living room, but Eric pointed her to the adjoining kitchen. It was surprisingly large for a vampire's apartment, and she suspected that the apartment had not originally been constructed for one, but rather made to accommodate one. _Or he has more human guests that you think,_ thought Sasha. Not that she could imagine Eric Northman cooking up omelets for his female guests. She doubted he could even cook.

"I'm not being modest," said Eric, walking over to the fridge. She peeked over his shoulder. Other than a few bottles of blood—an emergency stash, human and True, she suspected—there was a surprising amount of fruits and vegetables.

"I had my day-man procure you food," he told her, obviously sensing her intrigue.

"Did you tell him you'd picked up a pet rabbit, by chance?" she asked politely.

"You know, I didn't specify what kind of stray," he said, and she could tell he was trying to reign in his impatience. "Is this not to your liking?"

"It's very…there isn't like, a cheeseburger anywhere in there, is there? Or chocolate?"

"I don't believe there is," said Eric. "I'm sure you can make yourself something suitable,"

"The thing is, I want something greasy," said Sasha. At the mention of food, her every emotion and thought was giving away to the pit in her stomach. "Something greasy and—coffee. Like, strong, black coffee. Do you have a coffee maker?"

"I do not."

"No coffee?" asked Sasha. Her eyes began welling with tears—god she was about to cry over the lack of _coffee_ , and this was just the worst night ever, like she was on her period and crazy high and experiencing the most intense case of the munchies ever—even Eric looked alarmed at the abrupt change in her mood.

" _Please_ don't cry," he muttered, and the shock of the word 'please' was probably the only thing to keep her from losing her shit on the spot.

* * *

An hour later, Sasha was sitting happily in a faded red booth, legs drumming impatiently and fingers tapping against the marred plastic top of the diner table. Eric's eyes were still trained on her exasperatedly. He'd taken her to the nearest and emptiest diner to his home. He could deal with a lot, but a mercurial Sasha _and_ her tears was a bit much, even for him.

While Eric understood that his blood was a lot to handle for a human—who knew the effects it had mixed with witch blood—even he was starting to lose his patience.

"Oh—no, forget the burger, I want a grilled cheese,"

"Grilled cheese?" repeated Eric. "Sounds awful,"

"No, no, it's so good, Eric! Better than sex, if it's done right,"

"I highly doubt that," said Eric stiffly, like she'd just personally insulted him. "Are you ready or not? The waitress has been staring for at least twenty minutes, waiting for you to make up your mind,"

Sasha tugged up half the collar of her shirt—his—higher up her neck, leaning an elbow on the table as she followed his gaze. The movement only served to widen the v of the undone buttons, providing a teasing view for him. Between her hunger and his—he was the one that was about to lose it. "Who, her? She's staring at you, dummy,"

" _Excuse me_?" Eric blinked at her. Dummy?

The waitress made her way over finally, extra peppy as she tried to hide a mix of nerves and shy smiles as her eyes kept drifting back to him. But Eric was still glaring at Sasha.

"What can I get you two?"

"Hi—can I have the Late Bird Grilled Cheese? Yeah and can I have that with fries?"

"Of course and to drink?" asked the girl, chewing on her lip now as she openly stared at Eric.

"Water, no—lemonade. Actually, a Coke. I don't really drink Coke, but I want a Coke. But no Pepsi. Actually, in this case I'll settle for it. Just sugar. I need sugar," said Sasha, ignoring Eric's alarmed look. "No wait don't go—can I get an order of onion rings as well? And, um, like a BLT. With avocado. Oh wait, there's chicken nuggets? Now I can't decide. You know what, just bring everything,"

"I thought you needed coffee," muttered Eric.

"After,"

Closing up the menu, Sasha handed it back to the waitress with a bright smile; the waitress, finally having been distracted from Eric by her extravagant order could only nod mutely.

"Are you well, Sasha?" Eric asked carefully.

"Um," she paused, pushing a few curls passed her ears. "This one time, in college, I accidentally ate half a chocolate chip cookie—but I didn't know it was an edible,"

Eric stared at her for a full moment before realization struck him. He leaned in across the table. "You're _high_ as a fucking kite," he accused. He knew his blood would have a certain dizzying affect on her—but this was even worse than he had expected.

Sasha bit her lip, but then she was unable to stop giggling. "I couldn't stop eating then, or talking! Except then it sucked because I had an Anthropology final in the morning—this is just like that except, you know, the murder and kidnapping and torture and I'm not high on some cheap, dorm-made weed-cookie—it's millennium vampire old blood,"

"You lived in a dormitory while you attended college?" Eric asked interestedly. "I can't picture you living with…"

"Humans?" asked Sasha, nodding.

"I was going to say peasants,"

He fought the smile that threatened to overcome him at her giggle. It was just so fucking… _cute_. Eric had never seen her like this before—he'd seen her amused, he'd seen her angry, righteous, and now he'd seen her battered and vulnerable, but never so youthful or innocent.

So human.

It was turning into an incredibly bizarre night, but he was at least hopeful of this stoned Sasha. She appeared incredibly chatty now.

The waitress came by with Sasha's drinks and an order of fries. She didn't stick around long this time. "Oh yeah. Malachi made me. Said I had to at least give 'being normal' a shot. But I hated it. It was awful,"

 _Malachi_.

He grew stiff once more. "How long were you with him?"

"Were?" asked Sasha. "I'm still with him,"

"There must be more at play. McGinty even green-lit giving you my blood—"

"You _told_ him?!" she exclaimed, and so loudly that the few heads in the diner turned to their corner booth.

"Keep your voice down," hissed Eric. "Yes, I called him. I needed the truth—or at the very least to ascertain whether or not I would have to worry about a king coming after me and mine just because I was saving your life,"

"I told you before he wouldn't hold it against you for saving me," it Sasha, grabbing a few fries and popping them into her mouth. "Well, he will if you have bad intentions. Even if giving me blood was unnecessary. You could have taken me to a hospital,"

"You were hurting,"

"There are less lucrative forms of Advil than your blood. Like morphine,"

Eric observed her for a moment. Then he lowered his voice, telling her, "I don't think you understand the extent of your injuries, Sasha."

"No, I think I was pretty aware,"

"Sasha," he tried again. This time she met his eyes.

"What?"

"Your brain was beginning to swell," he said carefully. "I suspect that your being what you are has as much to do with why you're still alive as my blood does. Your stubbornness too, I am sure,"

"I…" Sasha put her food back down, suddenly appearing like she might be sick. "I, I could have died?"

"Has the thought occurred to you only now?" he asked, surprised.

"I thought—I thought the danger was in one of the newborns draining me, or maybe Catherine killing me but I didn't realize…I didn't know…I just…everything hurt but then you came and I thought I was…it was just pain…"

He allowed her to her thoughts, examining each every emotion that came through their new bond.

Eric had never had a bond with a human quite like this one. He'd had many bonds over the centuries, though perhaps not so many as he had at once currently. Catherine was mistaken to believe that he never claimed humans. He'd never had a bond to a human _and_ a claim; he'd used the shallowest form of the bond, a one-time sip to keep track of humans, assets and targets, such as the recent human Lafayette Reynolds. It had faded in the year since. Then there was, of course, Sookie Stackhouse. His bond to Sookie was stronger, simply because of his own emotional tie to her and the fact that he'd had her blood on a separate occasional. If they exchanged no more blood to renew that bond, he suspected it too would soon fade.

But this bond with Sasha…Sookie felt a lot, but he couldn't ever remember it being _this_ strong. Sasha's every emotion—and there were so many he couldn't recall the names of, much less their meaning—threatened to influence his every thought and emotion. He had to actively step back some from the bond, put some distance between them. Then again, he'd never been bonded to a witch before. He supposed this was very well the norm for them.

The waitress came by a third time, this time with trays of Sasha's food. Eric wrinkled his nose at it all—he was unfamiliar with just about everything except French Fries—but all he knew was that the grease glistening on her food was enough to turn even his strong stomach.

But her appetite seemed to have passed. She simply picked at the food.

"Weren't you starving, a minute ago?" he prodded. "Eat,"

She reluctantly took a bite of her food and he nodded in satisfaction. Slowly her appetite returned to her, and she ate more enthusiastically.

He was somewhat surprised when, having eaten half of what she called the 'best grilled cheese in the whole world' she picked up a napkin and wiped her mouth and, without prompting, finally told him the truth.

Even knowing what Eric knew, he was unprepared for everything Sasha told him. It wasn't like anything that he'd imagined and, if she really was to be believed, he'd had only misinformation all along.

"We're the only…everyone but you is human in here, right? My senses are all off thanks to your blood," she said, wiping her hands and reaching for one of her drinks.

"Yes. I made sure of that when we walked in," said Eric.

"So yes. I am a…witch," said Sasha. It wasn't as gratifying as he thought it would be, finally hearing it from her lips. At first he thought it was because he could have never expected to learn the truth from her at in a diner on a Monday evening. But then he realized that it was the way she said it, like the very word slipped off her tongue reluctantly and it had nothing to do with him or the fact that her secret was out, but just like speaking the word out loud made her uncomfortable.

"You'll have to tell me how you figured it out. Was it the dream?"

Eric's eyes narrowed. "You were the cause of those dreams?"

"Drea _m_ , not dreams," said Sasha. "And I wasn't so sure I was successful—I just knew I had to communicate to you that I was in danger and I didn't know how else to do that other than try to dream walk. Not like I'd ever done that before, so I just had no idea if it worked or not. I guess it did."

"Ah," said Eric, realizing too late that she was referencing the dream he'd had a few nights ago, the dream that had sparked his suspicion that all was not well with her. "I will tell you when I am satisfied with your answers,"

"Fair, I guess," she sighed. She spoke as she opened up one of her sandwiches and stuffed fries inside. "So…you have to know that I'm not like…Hermione Granger or anything. Hell, I'm not even Sabrina the Teenaged Witch, okay?"

"I have no idea what either of those things mean," he told her patiently. "Explain,"

"You—at least Harry Potter. Ugh, never mind," she sighed. "So, what I'm trying to say is, I'm not a very powerful witch, nor am I very good at being one,"

His skepticism began to flood in. Here she went; now that he knew the truth, she would water everything down to make herself seem like a less desirable asset.

"I doubt that,"

"No, really," said Sasha. "I only started practicing witchcraft two months ago. And I still can barely cast a functional spell, am still figuring out potioneering 101—why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because my patience with you is running out. I see what you're doing, downplaying—"

"I'm not downplaying anything!" exclaimed Sasha, green and gold eyes flashing. _There_ was the woman he knew.

"If I was even a half decent _witch_ than I would have gotten myself out of that problem—and every one like it, might I add!" she reminded him. Eric's jaw squared.

"Go on," he agreed curtly.

"Right, so not a good witch. Keep that in mind," she said. "My dad isn't just human, but he's about as normal as they come. I'm half witch, if you want to get technical about these things, and from my mother's side,"

So far, so true.

"I don't know how familiar you are with witches…but I guess it's a lot like being a were—don't make that face—you can't really be _half_ a witch, it's either in your blood or it isn't. So when I say half-witch, I just mean that I come, apparently, from a run-of-the-mill-normal human father, and a pure-blooded, true-born witch. I've learned both of my maternal grandparents are— _were_ —witches,"

"I'm following,"

"Good. So my father knows I'm a witch, even though he didn't know my mom was one when they first got together. He said he never knew until they had me, and that because I was so… _unusual_ … it kind of all came spilling out. Needless to say, their marriage wasn't very solid after that, maybe even before that, I don't know, but by the time I was twelve my mother left us,"

"She taught you nothing of what you are? Of your Craft?" asked Eric. When she shook her head, he suddenly understood her ire with the newborn Jack's Maker. It went beyond the abandonment of a parent for her—like a newborn vampire abandoned by it's Maker, she'd had to navigate an impossible minefield of being something so unexpected, so difficult, something other than human.

"Long story short, I ran away shortly thereafter. I wanted to make it out to San Francisco—"

"And you were how old?"

"Like not even twelve," she admitted with a smile. This time a hint of a smile did tugged at his own lips. He could just picture a young Sasha Buckley at that age, every bit as headstrong and independent as she was now, every bit as smart and sharp thinking.

"Go on,"

"By that point I knew that I was…different. I intuitively used some of my magic, it was so much easier than, there was so much less of it…but, and I swear it was unrelated to my magic, I almost ended up vampire chow while in Vegas,"

"Somehow I'm not surprised,"

"I met Eoin there. He was with Malachi—" Here she paused, giving him a bashful smile. "Well, Malachi is the common name he uses this century. You'd probably know him better as Morathai Jakande, Vampire King of California,"

"You've belonged to him for so long?"

"I don't _belong_ to him, not in the way you think," she insisted. "He recognized me for what I was, and he offered to take me back to California with him, to help me out,"

"Oh I'll bet he did," snorted Eric. "I can only imagine his delight—what king wouldn't jump at the chance to raise their own witch? What vampire period?"

"You're not listening," Sasha said impatiently. "Everything that ever happened with Malachi was _my_ choice. He gave me the option of staying with him in Malibu. He saw that if I wanted it, I would have a home. And he gave me the option of learning about my witch heritage. I declined,"

"You declined," repeated Eric. "Why?"

"Because between my mother and—okay _that_ is definitely none of your business," said Sasha, jabbing a fry in his direction.

"Very well. For now,"

"So I ended up staying with Malachi, at the nest. Those vampires you met—they all helped raise me, in their own way. Not always particularly well—James was always wonderful. He took me shopping and taught me about horses, how to ride—" at his snort she shot him a puzzled look. "—But Mimi was another story. She was a…bad influence, as I've mentioned in the past. She's still serving penance for some of the stuff that happened with me. That's why she was at the coronation. She's like, on parole."

"So McGinty, Mimi… _James_ …they are all Jakande's progeny?"

"No," said Sasha, shaking her head. "Malachi doesn't have any progeny of his own. He basically adopted us all. We're loyal to him because we want to be, because he earned that and more,"

 _Us. We._

"And he never once insisted on harnessing your abilities?" Eric asked doubtfully. There had to be some bigger motive at large. "Never fed from you?"

"The only thing that he always insisted on was education," said Sasha. "He said while I lived under his roof I'd have to at least get my GED. I had private tutors all the way through high school. That's why I'm multi-lingual,"

"And?"

"And there were a lot of lessons on vampire culture and vampire politics. I got to travel a fair bit. Admittedly I was a bit socially awkward until college when it came to humans, but otherwise it was a good upbringing. He took good care of me, and he never _once_ tasted my blood. No one did. It was against the rules,"

"Do you realize how incredibly difficult it is for me to believe all this?" he asked her.

"I'm not asking you to. You asked for the truth, and I'm giving it to you. It's up to you what you do with it," she said stubbornly. "So anyway, everything went south a year ago. You know everything about Bartholomew. I wanted a change of pace, so I was driving to New York. That was my original plan. But then my car broke down—this you know—and I _knew_ something was up, something…supernatural…but it wasn't until later that I realized what,"

"And that was?"

"Well," said Sasha. She paused to take a bite of food. Washed it down with drink. "Up until recently, I was under the impression that I had been born in Washington DC. It turns out I was born here in Louisiana. In Bon Temps. And I found that out because I had these dreams leading me to this broken down house—and that's where I met my grandmother. Well, her ghost actually and—and why don't you look even the least bit shocked? I was floored when I found out,"

"Because I know," said Eric. "To be fair, I know Collette Montgomery,"

"Yes, she mentioned," said Sasha. "But how did you know I was her granddaughter?"  
"Because you and I, we've met before," said Eric.

" _What?_ " she exclaimed. Once again he had to shush her, remind her they were out in public. He quickly filled her in, feeling her emotions begin to simmer.

"She lied to me," said Sasha, shaking her head. "She lied to me—she told me that story, but she didn't tell me that I was there, that you…"

"That's between you two," said Eric.

"I just don't understand why…why wouldn't she tell me you threatened me when I was little?" asked Sasha. "She hates you, she hated that I…don't, so why wouldn't she have told me this herself?"

"Because knowing this, has your opinion of me truly changed?" asked Eric, studying her. "You know vampires…if anything, I bet your opinion of me has only improved now. You know most vampires in my position wouldn't have acted quite as generously as I did,"

She was quiet, and he could feel the truth. He was right.

"What did you make her do for you?" asked Sasha quietly.

"Nothing that ever endangered her secret, her life, or yours for that matter," Eric said easily. "Simple charms for finding lost things and lost people,"

Sasha considered his words as she ate, mulling over the new information. Finally, if a bit shyly, she asked, "So I mimicked your fangs?"

"Yes," said Eric with a grin. "Looking back…you were actually and incredibly charming child. Even then, fearless in the face of vampires. And, even then, drawn to me," he teased.

She rolled her eyes, and he felt some of the tension in her melt away.

"So why leave? Started to feel like you were living in a gilded cage?" mocked Eric.

"No, I just…" Sasha shrugged. "I wanted to get a way for a bit, even before Bartholomew. At some point, all children leave their parents, right? I wasn't leaving forever. I'm sure you had time apart from your Maker,"

"Don't think that you can presume to compare the two," warned Eric. Again she shrugged.

"Our relationship has always was always more comparable to that of Maker-Progeny. Malachi always said that,"

Eric clucked his tongue, looking away. She very well knew the regard he held for the bond she spoke so carelessly about. Speaking of progenies…

"Is there anything about the night you were taken that you'd like to tell me?" he asked. "About you were taken from Fangtasia?"

"No,"

"Really? Nothing at all? No grievance or complaint against me? Something personal?"

Her eyes narrowed, and he felt her confusion. Then her realization. "You're…you're trying to get me to rat out Pam. Obviously you know. So why?"

"I'm genuinely surprised that you haven't yet," he admitted.

"I knew she didn't like me," said Sasha. "But this was a bit much, even for her. Especially since I agreed not to see you anymore after she harassed me—"

"She did what?"

He grew angrier with his progeny as he listened to Sasha's account.

"…but Pam is a big girl. I don't need to go tattle-tale to her daddy. She can deal with me,"

Eric felt a wave of admiration for the witch. It was what compelled his next confession.

"Pamela has always been…difficult. She is rarely reckless—she leaved that to me—and yet when it comes to her Maker, she is incredibly protective. Dangerously so, as you've found out. I take no pleasure in punishing her, nor will I ever. Most punishments don't stick, and the ones that do are of a physical nature. And even then, only because it hurts her to know that I feel her every pain," he paused for a moment. He pretended to take interest in the condensation on her glass in an effort to keep the distance between them his confession threatened to close.

"I…had you not lived through this, I would have had her fangs for her involvement in what happened to you," said Eric.

Sasha didn't speak for a long time. He could feel just how stunned she was.

"I—well, I am glad you appreciate that I nearly died," said Sasha. "But Pam—this is between us. I'll deal with her myself,"

She said it so resolutely, Eric's eyes snapped back up to her. He cocked his head to the side, trying to understand the shift that had just occurred between them. He couldn't identify just what it was then, and it would be some time before he understood just how his perspective of Sasha Buckley had shifted. But he only knew that it had, that this one single moment was important somehow.

"Very well,"

They fell into the easiest silence between them yet as Sasha returned to her food. Eric simply watched her. There were still many questions the other had to answer for, but it seemed that for a moment they'd reached some sort of understanding. Finally when—and miraculously—Sasha had finished every scrap of food and drink in front of her, Eric paid for her dinner and escorted her back to his car.

"Are you going to take me home or what?" asked Sasha as she buckled herself in.

"Not tonight," said Eric, glancing her way. He was immediately aware that his response triggered a threat to the unspoken truce between them. "There are still things we need to discuss. I'm honestly surprised you haven't brought one glaring issue to light,"

"The blood bond," said Sasha.

"The blood bond," he echoed. "By vampire law, you are mine, Sasha,"

"I am not," she agreed stiffly. "That law extends to humans and covers Wiccans and halflings—"

"—of which, you are—"

"But like I said before, I'm not a true halfling. I'm not some watered down bloodline. I have the potential to be more than I am because of my ancestry, and so that puts me into the supes category. You can't claim me," argued Sasha.

"Perhaps not one, two hundred years ago. But your kind hasn't been in power, much less organized, for even longer than that. The only justice you might find is in a vampire system of law—I promise you you're better off taking your chances with me,"

She snorted, shaking her head.

"And," continued Eric. "You don't want to expose yourself. If you wanted to take me to vampire court, you would be exposing yourself for what you are to the entire vampire world. For good reason, but all the same, you can't openly fight me on this without drawing attention to yourself and, eventually, to what you are. Obviously you care about not doing so; you've been very careful for this long to keep your identity hidden,"

"I don't _want_ to be yours. I don't want to belong to anyone," she told him. Eric parked the car in the underground parking garage of his building, turning to face her as bodily as the interior space would allow.

"Be smart about this, Sasha," he told her. "As you are the one that put us on this path, take responsibility for yourself and accept this for what it is—for both our sakes. It doesn't matter what you say, in the end; whether you want to accept it or not, in the vampire world my claim on you will be recognized,"

Her glare intensified, and she finally squared her jaw, turning away from him to stare out of the window. He let her, mostly because despite her demeanor he could tell she was thinking, considering his proposition.

"Why did you become Sheriff?"

Eric studied her for a moment, wondering how this could possibly matter now. "Because it was my punishment,"

"Punishment?"

"I defied the Authority. Before the Great Revelation, I grew…careless with secrecy when it came to what I am. I was in France at the time, and I'd taken to enjoying a woman I'd met often in the moonlight, on her family's property…feeding on her… I'd already drawn the attention of more than a few vampires in the Area. The Sheriff of the Area asked me to back down; when I did not, he contacted the Authority. So they put me here, where they could watch me,"

"You…you didn't want to be Sheriff?" she asked in surprise. "It's not…you're not climbing some sort of political latter?"

"I care very little for politics. Even less so for vampire politics," said Eric. "I've grown comfortable of my position. Fond of it, even. The work and responsibility keep me busy, the status keeps me mostly unbothered by other vampire. That is all,"

"Even if you have to answer to monarch—monarchs that are so often younger than you are?"

"I play the part that I have to play," said Eric. "It is typically far easier than it has been as of late—I try to stay out of trouble, believe it or not,"

His answer seemed to matter a great deal to her, and he couldn't understand why.

"Okay," she said, nodding.

"Okay?" he repeated, lifting a brow. "That's it?"

" _Okay_ make me a deal," she said finally.

"A deal,"

"Are you just going to parrot me all night? I'm willing to negotiate," She swallowed, nodding her head determinedly, though he wasn't too sure who she was trying to convince—him or herself. "Make me a deal, Eric Northman, and I'll accept I'm yours."

* * *

 **This chapter was exactly 10,600 words, and just about every bit of it was from Eric's perspective! Hope you all enjoyed that. Again I can't thank you all enough for the reviews-they're what help me power through fatigue to edit and post these! What did you guys think about this chapter?**

 _ **Liza:** I aways love reading your reviews for all of your great observations and questions. You bring up excellent points that will be answered more in full in the next chapter. I wanted to say more on that here, but I realized it wouldn't work with the flow of this chapter. _

_**Lucy:** I am very glad you were not disappointed! Cliffhangers can be tricky-you want to raise enough excitement for people to come back without building anticipation for no reason. My cliffhangers usually tend to feel like more natural stopping points in the sense that if i don't do that, i end up with a 20,000 word chapter. This chapter, for instance, was 10,600 words, and 21 pages. Gotta stop somewhere lol. The funny thing about the sex dream is that Sasha hasn't realized that the reason she was able to even dream walk successfully was the fact that she was being helped; Eric was already dreaming of her ;) More on Eric/Pam/Sasha next chapter!_

 _ **A New Fan** : Thanks for stopping by again! :) _

_**bubu-chibi-chan** : life, death, and eroticism...straight outta the vampire handbook lol. I'm American/Italian. :)_


	19. Chapter 19

_**important author's note at bottom of chapter regarding the future of this story/series. i advise reading it to stay apprised of developments.**_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 19: Negotiations**_

Sasha sucked on the straw of her chocolate milkshake, eyes sliding to the clock of Eric's kitchen microwave; 3:38 am. She'd been somewhat shocked to find out that upon waking up, she was on her third night since being kidnapped from Fangtasia. She was strangely well adjusted to all that happened to her, though she knew that the minute Eric's blood was fully acclimated in her body and lost it's initial potency she'd be freaking the fuck out. For now she admired that impending freak out from afar, like a drunk might a hangover or sober consequences.

 _Wait, if it's November 2_ _nd_ _…_ Sasha frowned, only half listening to Eric counterargument. _Then it's my real birthday. I'm twenty-five. Wow._

"…just a pint or so here or there. You haven't even given me a single taste," argued Eric.

He had been trying to convince her since they'd returned to from the diner that he had some sort of entitlement to her blood. She'd vehemently denied him each time.

"Absolutely not," said Sasha. "I'm willing to negotiate my magic with you, not my body,"

"You're being unnecessarily difficult, Sasha," he told her. Goosebumps erupted across her skin at the frustrated way he said her name, and she crossed her legs absently, thighs clenching.

Eric smirked. "Are you entirely sure your body is off the table?"

She scowled. His blood was going to have a lasting effect on her. Now, even the most fleeing thought was burdened with desire. She could feel it reacting in her body with her witch blood—it was like having pop rocks in her veins.

"Don't be an ass. For as long as I am in your Area, then I am your concern. Now that I have your blood, no one will be able to dispute that your claim on me. I appreciate the protection that—" she paused as her phone went off again. She rolled her eyes, texting Eoin back quickly. She'd been avoiding answering his calls all night, too much of a coward to actually speak to him.

 _Like I said earlier, I'm fine. –SB_

"—and I realize that I'm in your debt. I'm still learning how to control my magic, but I _am_ learning, and this whole experience… I never want to be that helpless again. I won't hold back anymore when it comes to my studies. So I'm willing to promise you my _magical_ services to only you. There'd be a few stipulations, obviously,"

"Obviously," mocked Eric.

"I'm protecting myself," she told him. Eric snorted, tugging on one of her curls and watching it bounce back into place.

"Tell me, when have you ever had to protect yourself from me? Haven't I been doing the protecting?" he murmured, dragging a finger across her lip. With her vampire blood-heightened libido, the gesture felt incredibly intimate…and erotic. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Oh shit," he blinked, drawing away from her in surprise. He'd obviously felt her arousal.

"I'm not doing it on purpose!" she defended blushing fiercely. "I have your blood and you're, you're like walking sex and it's just so not fair!"

She dropped her head into her hands, pulling at her curls. She felt his hands on hers, pulling them away from her hair.

"Don't worry, it'll pass," said Eric. "For both of us,"

"Both of us? You feel…off too?" she sniffed.

"You're…I suspect because you're a witch, your blood reacts to mine in a very powerful way," said Eric. "Everything about a normal blood bond is heightened, for both of us. I can feel you very strongly, strongly enough your emotions have an effect on me, influence me. It's why I can't keep my hands off you right now, I have this _need_ to comfort you—fucking hell, what is it now, Sasha?" he exclaimed in surprise.

She flushed once more. "You didn't have to say it like _that_ ,"

"Say what?" he asked in exasperation.

"The hands off bit," she muttered.

"You need to control your thoughts better," he told her, smirking.

"It's the blood," she insisted.

"Right,"

"Seriously! I've always found you attractive, but this is just _stop it!_ " she exclaimed. Eric had made a show of biting into his bottom lip, scraping his top teeth over his bottom lip. He winked at her as she shook her head.

"Jerk," she muttered. "Can we get back to negotiations?"

"Very well," said Eric, resuming a more serious expression as he put the counter between them. He leaned down on his forearms (naturally her eyes flicked up to his biceps as they bulged with the movement. The fucker) watching her carefully. "I accept your terms. For now. But I also want periodic updates on your witchcraft studies. I want to be involved; I'll want demonstrations of your power, of what you're learning,"

Sasha considered his this, trying to foresee what the worst-case scenario would be for agreeing. She couldn't think of anything so far that frightened her. But was her trust in him misplaced? Was it the blood talking?

"What would it look like to you, having my powers at your disposal?" she asked.

"I'm not sure yet," said Eric. "You yourself don't know the extent of your powers. Between us, you're getting the most out of this deal,"

"You're not just a Sheriff. You're a businessman. And a good one at that," said Sasha. "You don't make bad deals,"

Eric grinned crookedly at her. "I don't think I'm making a bad investment, no. I think when you do come into your own as a witch, you'll be worth every trouble,"

Sasha swore under her breath. "Why do I feel like I'm making a deal with the devil?"

She extended her hand to him. "So it's as we stated. And you don't get my blood," she reminded.

Eric shook her hand.

"And so it is,"

* * *

They both retired to Eric's bedroom for the day. Logically she knew there had to be at least another bedroom somewhere in the penthouse where she could have slept, but she didn't bring it up and neither did he. She was feeling clingy after her experiences and she craved the comfort of company—his company, when she stopped and listened to his blood calling for him in her veins. He didn't have to admit to feeling the same. She saw it in his every action and word. It would take some time for the initial strength of their blood bond to fade, to allow them to separate what was real and what was blood.

Sasha had always known that blood bonding was serious stuff; she didn't realized just how serious until now that she was experiencing it firsthand.

For the time being, they seemed to have come to the mutual agreement to simply go with it. It was silly to fight, in any case, and Sasha was more than happy not to have to face the wrathful vampire she'd caught peeks of during her in-and-out state the night before, not when she wasn't feeling herself.

Still, it was a little odd and, when at one point they were both in his en suite bathroom, brushing their teeth and their eyes met in the mirror, Sasha was the first to break into a fit of giggles. Even Eric let out a rare bark of genuine laughter.

 _How even_ , thought Sasha. Some twenty-four hours ago she'd been on the brink of death, in the custody of vampires. Now she was being domestic with Eric Northman, the thousand year old vampire that had a claim on her. This was going to be such a long story to explain to the nest. Her thoughts turned elsewhere.

Spitting a mouthful of toothpaste into the pristine sink basin below, Eric's eyes flicked to her once more. "Just ask whatever it is you want to ask,"

Sasha rolled her eyes, turning to rest a hip against the long bathroom counter. She was still thinking, hadn't fully formed a question yet. Finally she bent over and spit out the frothed up mint toothpaste out.

"So who's Catherine?" she asked.

"She's the Sheriff of Area Four," Eric said easily.

"Well obviously," said Sasha, pausing only to rinse out her mouth. When she straightened, she took in her reflection. She'd taken a shower after finalizing their deal, and she was back in one of Eric's shirts. Her skin looked dewy and perfect, eyes bright and lucid. Vampire blood was one helluva fixer upper, that was for damn sure. Even her hair had an extra bounce to it. She teased a few wet curls through her fingers.

"Ugh, my hair," she bemoaned. "I hate not having my night stuff. It's going to be a nightmare in the morning,"

Eric rolled his eyes, coming around her and opening one of the paneled drawers below the sink counter. He pulled out a couple hair ties. At her raised eyebrow he shrugged.

"I had long hair before you met me,"

"Really," said Sasha, her imagination already running wild. "Now that I would pay to see,"

He snorted softly, beckoning her to follow him back into his bedroom. Once there, he had her sit on the bed. She was surprised when he climbed on behind her, his fingers running soothingly through her hair, the pads of his fingers drawing small circles against her scalp.

"What are you doing?" she asked with something of a nervous giggle.

"I'm going to braid you hair," he said simply.

" _You_ know how to braid hair?! _"_ she asked in utter astonishment. "No way!"

"You seem to forget I was a Viking," he told her, and she could feel him carefully part her long curls into two sections. "My hair was even longer then. Not to mention Pam likes having her hair done just as much as she likes doing it,"

At the mention of his progeny, Sasha soured. "Good for her,"

Eric said nothing, and they fell into silence as he braided her hair. Then Sasha realized that he had never really answered her question.

"So, Catherine?" she prompted.

"Catherine is…complicated," said Eric. "She's not…what I tell you, I tell you now in extreme confidence and only so that you may understand why you're so fortunate to still be alive,"

"Of course," she said hurriedly, intrigued.

"I met her some two hundred years ago, in London. I was traveling to meet my Maker—we'd separated for a while, as I'd gone home to Sweden for some time. In London, my Maker and I were invited to several functions hosted by vampires. We soon grew bored of them—their activities were distasteful even by vampire standards. But one vampire in particular I could not stand. His name was Malcolm Strong, and he had a young progeny he'd turned only few years prior,"

"Catherine," guessed Sasha.

"Catherine," nodded Eric. "He was an unfit Maker. He perverted and polluted everything there was to ruin about the bond between Maker and progeny, fulfilling his own sadistic and masochistic nature. He abused her in every way he could, finding new and terrible ways to torment her. I'm sure you know even vampires aren't immune to insanity,"

"I do," she whispered. She had not expected _this_. Sasha had wanted to hate Sasha for being some psychotic jealous ex-girlfriend…she wasn't sure what to feel now.

"It was not my place, nor any other vampire's to intervene. But I couldn't help myself. I was so repulsed by his behavior, by the extent of his abuse…I lost my patience one night. I killed him. It was easy—he wasn't much older than three or four centuries old. I doubt she was his first victim,"

"That's _awful_ ," said Sasha. "His own progeny…"

"Yes. I'm a little surprised you're still so trusting of my kind, after the past few months," said Eric. "Not yet disillusioned?"

Sasha folded her fingers together, studying them for a moment. "I've…rethought some things. But I still don't think vampires are monsters. I never will. I just…maybe I grew complacent, yes, because I was holding up my nest as the standard and not the exception. But vampires are just like humans, because you _were_ human once; there is good and evil in both,"

"Well aren't you quite the romantic," noted Eric.

"Every bad situation that I got into since leaving home might have involved a crazy vampire, but a vampire also saved or helped me every time," she said, turning to look at him. Instead he was met with his hand turning her jaw back to face forward as he continued to braid her hair.

"So you killed Catherine's Maker," prompted Sasha. It occurred to her in that very moment that Eric Northman, as both man and vampire, had killed more than she'd ever wanted to know. And here he was, braiding her hair now. He could kill her so easily, so effortlessly…a flick of his finger at her temple and she'd be gone. Sasha had always thought she'd appreciated this fact about vampires, but had she grown more complacent than she'd thought?

"Yes, to my Maker's great displeasure," remembered Eric.

"Your Maker thought she deserved it?" she asked in alarm.

"Not at all," said Eric. "But he did warn me not to lose my patience. He preferred to go through the… ah, proper channels, so as not to draw the ire of all the vampires in the Area. Strong was familiar with several important vampires, you see. So when I did it anyway, he was most unhappy. Catherine was… unstable. I was ready to end her out of sheer pity but my Maker prohibited me from doing so. As punishment for my recklessness, he Commanded I look after her, teach her what her Maker should have. She healed immensely during that time. However, she is still prone to fits of instability I'm afraid, and she has the tendency to grow dangerously obsessed,"

"I'm guessing you were something she fixated on,"

"Yes. She grew far more attached to me than she should have, cares for me in a way that I have never reciprocated. I don't think _care_ is even the right word; obsession is more fitting. She wants me—considers me, in some ways—as the Maker she never had. She absolutely despises Pam of course—she could accept that I did not want to be a Maker, but that a few decades later after leaving her I went on to choose another, that I Turned Pam, a human she considered to be utter filth—Pamela was a madam running a brothel when I Turned her," Eric added, sensing her confusion.

"Ah,"

"Pam, jealous in nature as she is, hates that Catherine considers herself my first, my surrogate progeny. She's one of the few beings Pam spends active time in hating,"

"Other than me," muttered Sasha.

"Pam doesn't hate you," said Eric. His hands moved to place the two finished braids back over her shoulders. She reached down and fingered the end of a braid; he was even better at it than she was!

"Do you forget she was one the one who oh-so kindly looked the other way when that psycho newborn took me? She basically told him to take me!" exclaimed Sasha, turning to face him. That was a mistake; he was incredibly close, and his proximity, the fact that he'd so carefully braided her hair…her emotions scattered all over the fucking place.

How could eyes even be so blue?

"I know," said Eric, grinning a bit. "But I promise you that she doesn't hate you. Actually, I think one of her biggest problems with you, aside from the obvious, is that she knows if she allows herself to, she'd like you. Pam abhors enjoying people for more than sex,"

Sasha considered that for a moment. "I'm still breaking her nose the next fucking time I see her. Or better yet, learning a hex to make all of her hair fall out,"

"Oh, but then you run the risk of her actually hating you _and_ respecting you," teased Eric, moving off the bed. "You don't get cold, do you? I've noticed you run a bit hotter than the average human. Suppose that's the witch in you,"

 _No, that's the freaking Fire Affinity in me,_ Sasha sulked. She hadn't exactly gotten around to _that_ particular part of her magic when she'd explained everything to Eric. That and the creepy tarot cards, though she supposed now she knew what they meant by it all. The Lovers card that had depicted their likeness had predicted their blood bond. Worry crept back in; she'd played right into the future that card had depicted. What other traps would she fall into?

"What are you thinking about now?"

"No, I don't get cold," said Sasha absently.

"Remember that my kind runs cold. Especially during our dead sleep," warned Eric. She rolled her eyes.

"I have slept next to a vampire before, you know," she told him. He looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but thought better of it and simply shook his head. She watched him walk to his bedroom door and lock it.

"So you trust me this much?" she asked as he came back to the bed.

"What do you mean?" he asked as he settled over the covers.

"Ugh, it bothers me so much when you guys just lay _on_ the covers," she muttered, moving under the soft black blanket herself. "Well, there are a lot of sharp things in your room and bathroom, some even wooden. Aren't you worried I might just stake you or lop your head off to avoid being bonded to you?"

Eric shot her a dark look, as if the mere mention offended him. "I trust you not to kill me—I don't know that you're even capable of killing someone defenseless. And you could barely handle killing Bartholomew; I'm not too worried about myself, considering you actually like me and I've done nothing but help you,"

He turned the light off, throwing the room into complete darkness. Sasha shifted onto her back, trying to get comfortable.

"But?" she asked. "I sense a 'but',"

"But any trust I had in you is gone," he said flatly. "You lied to me at every turn about what you were, even when I gave you every reason to trust me,"

"Hardly—"

"You had me attempt to glamor you—even when you knew it wouldn't work. You completely played me," he argued flatly.

"I do feel a little bad about that," she admitted, though she was starting to get annoyed. "But what was I supposed to do? Risk it all just because you have a great pair of cheekbones and are unusually likable for a vampire of your age?"

"I deserved better, at least after Bartholomew," he said. "And you know it!"

She sat upright, glaring at him through the darkness, or where she thought his head might have been anyway. "Oh, you mean after you accused me of being a succubus? Or maybe after you accused me of being a spy for Malachi—which, newsflash, the world doesn't revolve around Eric Northman!" she exclaimed.

"Good day," he said gruffly. But she wasn't done. Now he'd gone and worked her up all over again. So much for their common ground.

"Why the hell would the King of California even give a damn about a Sheriff all the way in Louisiana—Eric? Unbelievable!" she exclaimed, realized he'd given in to his day sleep simple to avoid having to listen to her. She turned her back to him, simmering quietly about the big, stupid blond Viking vampire until she fell asleep.

It was, admittedly, the best night's sleep she'd had in over a year.

* * *

Sasha rose rather early the next day. The only source f light in the room, a clock that occasionally blinked out the time (10:43am) showed she'd slept surprisingly little. But as she climbed out of bed—she was someone mortified to find that she'd plastered herself to Eric's side in her sleep—she found that she felt incredibly well rested. Her body had finally adjusted to Eric's blood enough she didn't feel pumped full of drugs, though her body had been healed of aches and pains.

God, she'd been so stoned. But thinking back she couldn't be mad, or even embarrassed. She might have giggled and blushed more than was typical of her, but Eric hadn't been his usual self himself, either. He'd been soft, tender even with her in a way he hadn't been even after Bartholomew's staking. This time, driven by his blood in her veins, he'd been…sweet, even. It had been everything she'd needed, and she was impressed by his character once more—even with his newfound claim, she didn't feel taken advantage of at all.

But, even as she reflected on the events that had led her to this moment, she knew she wasn't out of the woods yet. Sasha couldn't help but compare the cold, distance detachment she felt at her newest kill and the staking of Bartholomew. She felt no sympathy, for the life she had taken—she didn't feel anything at all. Was this the blood in her, keeping her numb from what threatened to devour her? Or was she now comfortable in the role of killer? There was a trace of another feeling there. Something like pride, like…vindication that she'd protected herself, that, had she died that night, she would have gone down fighting. The very thought was distressing, and she pushed it away. Now was not the time.

She glanced down at where she felt Eric's presence, reaching out a clammy hand—she realized now she ran rather hot—and found his face in the darkness. Her fingertips danced across his marble features, so much colder and harder in his dead sleep, and up to his hairline. She brushed his hair back fondly; of all the things that had happened to her since entering Louisiana, Eric Northman certainly wasn't the worst. He was a wonderful enigma of harsh and soft, and she was certain that the deeper she dug the more softness she'd find. She wondered what it would be like to dismantle him completely, to learn him and know him—surely it would take more time than she had in her lifetime.

For a moment, she was so taken by him, so affected by his age and his nature that she wondered what a world would be like without Eric Northman—a world that in her limited view was, in a way, so much younger than he. The historian in her marveled at him just as she had before. To have lived the lives he lived, the lives he would lead… She wondered how Eric counted time—by lovers? By places lived? By regimes witnessed, wealth acquired?

Humbled by the kindness such a vampire had imparted on her, motivations be temporarily damned—she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He'd never know how truly she appreciated his actions—or, she supposed, he'd always be able to feel it—and, if she ever had children, she'd be sure to recount her adventures and tell them about the handsome vampire Sheriff that had saved her ass on more than one occasion.

Slipping out of bed, Sasha unlocked the door and found her way into the living room on light feet, a bounce to her every step. Okay, so maybe the blood still had an affect on her mood, and although she wasn't stoned, she could admit to feeling unusually good about herself, unusually positive. Aware that the emotions she felt were somewhat synthetic, she gave herself over to them anyway.

She deserved the break from reality, she realized.

As she walked through Eric's apartment, she was unsurprised to find that the home had all the fixings she was used to back in California; the motion sensors picked up on her each time she entered a room, lighting them up for her. Knowing that, until Eric rose and unlocked the front door she had little to do, she went into the kitchen. There she reheated her coffee and threw together an omelet with the groceries' Eric's day man had purchased. She settled into the living room, feeling a little mischievous in knowing Eric's exasperation that would follow when he rose for the night and smelled her cooked food all over the house. She curled up on the couch with a book she'd pilfered from an office she'd found. It was about Viking ships and architecture, and a fascinating read thanks to the author's passionate and cutting voice.

That was how Eric found her later that evening. Curled up on the couch in what was supposed to be a decorative throw, with a small stack of books piled around her.

"I'm amending our deal," she announced as he made a beeline for the kitchen. She heard the oven and assumed he was heating up blood. "Already?"

"Yes. I want full access to your library," she told him. "And your boat,"

"What boat?" asked Eric, coming around to sit next to her. He grinned crookedly when he took the book from her to check the cover. "You can read all the books you like. Gods know my progeny hasn't taken an interest in them,"

Ignoring the mention of that particular vampire, she took the book back from him. "You're a Viking. You have a boat, somewhere," she told him. Eric only shot her a maddening grin over the top of his Tru Blood bottle.

Sasha returned to her book, content with the silence and company as she returned to her book. But her attention had finally been diverted, and she asked something that had begun to worm its way into her head earlier than afternoon.

"What's happening to the vampires that kidnapped me?"

"They are being dealt with," assured Eric. His tone was surprisingly final on the subject. "Any more questions before I take you home?"

"You're taking me home?" she asked in surprise.

"Did you plan on moving in?" he asked her. "That definitely was not part of the agreement,"

"Of course not," said Sasha. Though she was saddened to be parting with the luxury apartment—she'd seen the multi-jet tub in his bathroom, and going back to Sam Merlotte's rented out bungalow was just exactly inviting by comparison, she was eager to put some distance between her and Eric. She knew that the physical distance was needed for both of them; blood called to blood and proximity only clouded their emotions further, and endless cycle of back and forth. She suspected they both would be feeling much different come the next night.

"I don't know, I just figured you…"

"…that I'd what, keep you locked in here?" asked Eric as he grabbed his car keys off the perch from its hook by the door. "I know where to find you,"  
"Right. So my car is still at Fangtasia?" she asked, slipping into the rain boots that ran about two sizes too big. She'd left them at the door from the night before; they were Pam's, probably, and though Sasha was curious as to why Pam would leave rain boots of all things at Eric's, she was also curious as to why this mysterious day-man had been able to go grocery shopping but not clothes shopping for her. When she'd asked the night before, Eric had been uncharacteristically mum on the subject, and she'd been left to borrow more of his clothes.

Because apparently Pam left rain boots at Eric's, but not _clothes_.

"This actually isn't awful. I kind of make it work," said Sasha, fixing the impromptu bow she'd made under her bust out of the sleeves of Eric's sapphire blue button up in the mirror by the door. She'd briefly admitted—to herself—that it was a shame he never seemed to wear the color. Sasha had repurposed the shirt into a dress. "Very Carrie Bradshaw,"

"I thought much the same,"

She glared at the back of his head as she followed Eric out of the apartment, not quite sure if he was mocking her or not. Who knew, maybe Eric Northman really was a closeted _Sex and the City_ fan. Stranger things had happened, surely.

* * *

 **"** You went snooping through my apartment," Eric commented as they drove. He was taking her back to Bon Temps, having informed her that he'd had someone take her car back to the bungalow. "Your scent is everywhere,"

"I did," said Sasha. "But I also woke up in your bed, naked, and I doubt you avoided an eyeful, so I don't really feel like I crossed any boundaries,"

"I was very respectful," he assured her. She glanced at him; lecherous as she knew him to be, she thought that he was absolutely serious in his words now, that he wasn't teasing her.

She was quiet until he parked in front of the bungalow, looking her over.

"One more thing," he said. "We've established that prior to my claim, King Jakande had none on you,"

"Right," said Sasha, tracing her finger across the edge of the window, feeling the suction of the cold weather beyond the glass.

 **"** So why lie and gamble that I'd protect you? Why not lie and say you were his. Not only is he a King, but you knew he would have protected you—please look at me. Instead you took your chances on me,"

Sasha glanced at him, her stomach tightening a little. He appeared remarkably serious, like what he was asking had a right and wrong answer.

"Because," said Sasha. "I thought that was obvious. Revealing myself as important to my king to a foreign Sheriff…that would have been possible blackmail material. Same reason why I never told you that the nest I lived was Malachi's nest. Monarchs are always trying to undermine each other, especially here in the South; there's been crazy unrest for decades. I wasn't going to risk Malachi,"

"But you'd risk me," muttered Eric.

That was when she felt it. For the first time since waking, she was actively aware of more than just her own volatile feelings—because there, woven into her own emotions, was a thread of Eric's. And she swore that what he felt was disappointment.

"I was on the brink of death," said Sasha, suddenly confused and angry by her emotions—or where those his? She blinked, suddenly overcome by the conflicting mess of emotions, her pleasant and affectionate mood from the day now a distance memory. "I'm not going to apologize to you because I tried to save my own skin. I didn't think for a second that calling on you would get you in harms way or in some sort of political mess. I thought the only one at risk would have been me—I knew there was a good chance that invoking your name like I did would draw your wrath. I just preferred to die by your hand than those newborns, or worse that psycho Sheriff—because, at the end of the day, I don't think you'd actually kill me. Now good night, Eric,"

She slammed the door shut behind herself, stomping up into her house.

* * *

Her mood didn't exactly improve. Sasha locked herself into the bungalow and stomped around angrily, looking for clothes (she noted she needed to do laundry) and stressing over the continued stream of messages from Eoin, ranging from concern and threats that he'd catch a redeye and drag her ass back to California. By the time she made it into the shower she was balling her eyes out, a mess of emotions she wasn't so sure were all her own and feeling like she was on the most massive period of her life. She was distinctly aware that her emotions were thrown off kilter because of the blood, and though logically she knew the tears were useless and mostly unwarranted, she couldn't stop crying.

Finally, when the tears did stop and she was standing out of the shower, eyes red and puffy from crying, she felt better. She checked her messages again—she knew that she'd have to talk to Eoin eventually, and Malachi to, since there was no way Eoin had kept his big mouth shut—and found a messages from Eric.

 _Get a fucking grip._

She called him.

"Excuse me?" she bit out the second that he answered.

" _The anger is more manageable, yes, but I'd appreciate it if you worked to control your emotions better. I just shed a fucking tear on my quarterly reports,"_ said Eric. Instantly, she felt a little bad.

"Oh. Well sorry," she said, "I just got out of the shower and saw your text,"

" _There are more pleasant things you could be doing in the shower that I'd much rather feel,_ " he informed her. " _I understand having my blood, given what you are, is new for both of us. But you need to learn to control yourself. Quickly. I can't lose it at Fangtasia because you're menstruating,_ "

Sasha scoffed, feeling her annoyance at him spike once more.

"I will. But you should definitely look forward to that once a month," she snapped back, hanging up. For a moment she stared at her naked body in the fogged up mirror. Her eyes landed on her hip. She hadn't taken the time to look herself over at Eric's, but she could already find spots on her body where his blood had taken affect. She'd had a scar across her left hipbone from falling into a table when she was young. It was all gone, save for a thin, hairline scar of lighter skin. The same went for her right arm—she'd broken it during a riding accident when she was fourteen. It had been a grizzly break, with broken bone slicing through skin. But now that scar too, was gone.

"Unbelievable," she fussed. She didn't even feel like the same person, with Eric's blood—didn't look like the same one. But as she turned, she caught sight of one scar that hadn't faded completely.

Turning her left thigh towards the mirror, Sasha ran a fingertip over the old scar there. She'd had it for as long as she could remember, but she occasionally joked to the few that had noticed it that it was from an old vampire lover because it appeared to be twin puncture marks from fangs. It was still there, still silvery; it looked like Eric's blood had missed a few of her oldest scars after all.

By the time she was dressed in loungewear and had eaten some leftovers from her fridge, Sasha had managed to get a better hold over herself emotionally. It helped that she gave herself over to what she associated was more her natural self: logic and organization. She made mental lists of what she had to do in light of her current situation, prioritizing who it was she needed to talk to. There was Eoin and Malachi, Pam and her grandmother. Pam was the least of her worries, partly because she wasn't sure _how_ to go about handling the vampire. Just telling Pam that she was angry wouldn't do anything, she knew; Pam didn't give a damn about her. No, with Pam, she'd have to get even. She wasn't sure how to go about that, exactly, because the only thing that currently came to mind was fucking her Maker and making Pam her step-child. Pam would certainly hate it, but she though Eric might enjoy that solution a little too much.

Her grandmother was another thing entirely. Sasha wanted to confront her, but every time she imagine doing so sparks wouldn't shoot up from her fingertips up her arms, her magic crackling dangerously inside of her. She felt betrayed by Cookie's lies, and until she was in full control she couldn't risk the magical fallout. So Cookie was last on her list, for safety's sake. That left Eoin and Malachi.

She was more worried about Malachi. Eoin would annoy her with his overprotectiveness, but she feared Malachi's reaction. He'd listen to her before passing judgment, but it was that judgment that scared the shit out of her, because there was nothing worse punishment Malachi could deliver than disappointment.

Sasha thought back to Eric's text; she did need to get a grip. She'd have to face Malachi sooner or later and so, after slipping on a sweater, she made her way to the front porch to rest on the chair there with a mug of jasmine tea. It was a mild evening, and with her tea and sweater, the cool air felt grounding.

Dialing the number she knew by heart, she waited for Malachi to answer.

 _Ring. Ring. Ring._

Maybe he wouldn't answer. Maybe he was too busy—

 _Ring—_ The line connected.

Sasha hadn't spoken to Malachi over the phone often, and it was strange to do so now. But, as he had the few times that she had spoken to him over the phone, he waited for her to greet him first.

"Bonsoir," she greeted, hating how nervous she sounded straight off the bat. She gulped down a mouthful of tea, wincing when it scalded her tongue. But then, a moment later, it healed. Eric's blood was still strong in her veins.

" _Good evening, little one,_ " greeted Malachi. Unsurprisingly, the deep bass of his voice was unwavering, revealing nothing.

"I assume you've heard of my…troubles," said Sasha as lightly as she could manage.

" _Eoin has expressed his displeasure that I have not called you home multiple times_ ," said Malachi. " _He has since your encounter with Bartholomew. He thinks I give you more freedom than you can handle. It is difficult for him to understand that your freedom is not mine to give,_ "

"So you know everything?" she asked.

" _I know what he has told me. Would you be more at ease if you told me your version of events?"_ Malachi asked politely.

She did, and so Sasha told Malachi everything that had happened to her since arriving in Bon Temps. It felt good speaking with him, finally feeling like a burden was being unloaded. She had been happy to finally tell Eric the truth, but she'd been somewhat forced to do so. With Malachi she was telling him everything she wanted to tell him.

" _Eric Northman has gained your trust faster than most,_ " noted Malachi.

"I think he's earned it," muttered Sasha. A pause. "Eric doesn't trust you."

" _He doesn't_?" Again his tone was indecipherable.

"No. Now that he knows what I am…he thinks you didn't raise me so much as groom me to use me.

" _As opposed to his designs for you?_ " asked Malachi.

"I guess,"

" _Did you need my assurances to the contrary, then?"_ asked Malachi.

"Of course not," said Sasha immediately. "I trust you completely. That's never been a question,"

Malachi sighed on the line, and she had the rare sense that he was agitated beneath his calm exterior. " _I wish it were, at least on occasion. Sometimes I think you trust too much—you trust very few, but those you do trust, you give yourself to them completely. Even me. There will always be so much that you do not know about me, so much that I keep from you,"_

Sasha frowned, her head falling back against the wooden chair backing. She didn't like the way he was talking.

"You have only ever earned my trust. You've never lied to me,"

" _I've as good as, little one. Omission…is it any better than to tell a lie? I have never directly lied to you, no, but you will one day find yourself wondering if you were wrong to have so much faith in me. To think so highly of me,"_ He sounded tired and forlorn, and Sasha had never heard him say anything like this before. He didn't sound anything like the sure, steady vampire she'd grown up around.

"I doubt that," she whispered shakily. "You're _good_ Malachi. You raised me when my own family would not, you took me in, you gave me an education, a home, a family—you gave me _freedom_ , you gave me choice. Don't take that away from me. _Please_ don't."

He was silent for a moment. " _Enough. It was not my intention to upset you, little one. Tell me about your Viking,_ "

"He's not _my_ Viking," said Sasha, toying with a loose thread in her sweater, eager for the change of topic though not necessarily pleased by the new one.

" _But you are his_?"

"It's all very provisional," said Sasha. "He isn't like anyone I have ever met, Malachi. But I do trust him with my life, at the very least."

" _I will trust your judgment, then,_ "

She frowned. "That's it? You don't want to know more?"

" _Do you want to tell me more? I meant what I told you when you left—you are no longer a child, although Eoin will disagree on the matter. I will not treat you as such. I will ask that you be more careful, but the path you make for yourself is your own. Sasha, when I took you in, I had the sense then that you needed a home, not guidance. I would not have been able to provide the latter anyway—what does an old vampire know of what is best for a witch child? So I gave you what I could—a home, and that will be what I will always offer to you. But I knew then what I knew now: you are… whether you will or will not embrace your heritage, you are what you are. I am afraid you will never know a simple life. For you…there will always be something,"_

"You know…I'm getting that sense too," said Sasha, thinking of the cards she had drawn. Ouroboros. War. Lovers.

Sasha cleared her throat. "I think you'd like him. Eric," she said. "He's… he's more than just interesting. He's…there's something about him. He isn't like anything you'd expect of a vampire his age. That makes me trust him—I guess it's also what makes him dangerous. It makes him unpredictable."

" _It is good that you are aware of that. Remember to always be vigilant, especially when you least think it necessary,"_ said Malachi. " _And what of your grandmother?"_

"What about her?"

" _I know you feel she has betrayed you. And she has certainly betrayed your trust with her half-truths. But do you not feel that there is a chance she withheld information to protect you? She is a ghost, little one. She does not think like you and me. Her only power lies with words; if she feels you are in danger she cannot act to save you,"_

Malachi was, of course, right. She was still angry with Cookie, enough that she didn't want to listen to his reason—but even Eric had told her that Cookie had asked him to find her. Her grandmother had been incredibly desperate to have done such a thing.

 _Desperate and worried,_ thought Sasha. And yet, she was unable to keep the heat and sizzle of anger from spiking at her core.

"It'll be some time before I'm ready to forgive her. I just—if she kept that away from me, what else is she hiding? She still hasn't really told me anything about my mother, just a couple of cute anecdotes here and there."

" _More often than not, the way we protect the ones we care about is not the way they would prefer for themselves,"_ Malachi said gently. " _But I am afraid that is all the time I can give you now. I have affairs of State I must attend to,_ "  
"Yes, of course," said Sasha, rubbing at her temples. It was the middle of the night for him—his busiest hours. "I'm sorry to disturb,"  
" _Never that. You know, little one, you can call more often. I won't question your independence if you do,_ " said Malachi, earning a flush from her as she realized that he had read right through. " _Perhaps we can set up a day and time. I will be sure to keep my schedule clear, once a month, for one hour. It will be yours,"_

Sasha brightened at that, and they quickly came to an agreement for the first Monday of the every month while she was away.

Still, when she finally hung up, her contentment was marred by the ominous tone of Malachi's warnings. She sighed, checking the remains of tea at the bottom of her cup. It was well cold now; she'd been sitting outside for a few hours now, talking on the phone.

Shivering at the chill in the air, she stood, murmuring to herself,

"Time for bed."

* * *

 **Hi all! So i would have had this up earlier, but between a brief and unexpected stint in the hospital (i'm fine btw!) and my wifi being down and a missed flight, it's been hell for me! Anyway, please read on as i have some info about Lust for Life that you might be interested in.**

 **1.) We are nearly at the end. After this, there are only four more chapters in Lust for Life, five if I can't wrangle down the word count.**

 **2.) That said, expect to have quite a few questions left unanswered! This was just the beginning, the intro to the series really, and the next 'book' well delve deeper into everything than before. There will be a time jump between the two books.**

 **3.) I'm planning on doing something i hadn't originally; because of the time jump between book 1 and 2, and the fact that book 2 will be more heavily plot driven, I will take a break between book 1 and 2. During this 'break', i will be posting something of a side story/short story that will tie into the overarching series. This will focus on Eric and Sasha both as individuals and as whatever it is their relationship will be at that time. In that we'll see Sasha really embrace her magic (and whatever the hell that means) and take an in depth look at who Eric is as a vampire and person. I'm very excited about it, and it will be a fun and thorough exploration of both characters. It will also take place during that time jump i mentioned. If you're curious to know more, feel free to message me and i will try to respond with the least amount of spoilers possible!**

 **4.) Onto the reviewers. Big thanks to those that have been there from the start, and those that are just joining in! it's an absolute pleasure reading your comments, in seeing what you guys like and the questions you have and the things you all pick up on!**

 _Liza **: To be fair, Eric didn't really just string her along. Probably should have not slept with her, buuuut even Eric is subject to making bad decisions with his dick lol. Also, thank you because i now call her Crazy Catherine in my notes lol. Sasha complacent? Oh yeah. She'll have to do some soul searching certainly. Pam will get hers. Eventually.**_

 _b ubu-chibi-chan **: This chapter is all yours since your so kindly asked ;) and I don't know if i'd call Eric soft, but i was rewatching a few of his scenes from the show (it's been so long for me!) that i remembered that yes, he does have many moments were he's more than just a smirking, tough guy. he's a pretty deep guy-there are a lot of layers to him. So it's fun digging in. Stoned Sasha...did she spill everything because she was high, or because Eric was the one asking the questions? ;)**_

 _Lucy **: AHHHHHHH I AM SO GLAD you liked Eric's perspective. I will have to do that more often, at least in that depth. I'm very happy you're picking up on all those little hints and moments between them-they are all moments that are very telling of the bond forming between them. And yes, Malachi/Jakande! We saw-or rather heard-a bit from him here. All still very mysterious i'm afraid. Do you trust him?**_

 _Guest **: Not sure if you're the same 'guest' that usually comments or not, but thank you for your review! You're not wrong about Catherine ;)**_


	20. Chapter 20

_**Chapter 20: Fangs and Flames**_

Even with Malachi's advice looming in the back of her mind, Sasha decided against seeing her grandmother. Every time she considered heading over to Montgomery Manor her blood sizzled and her magic threatened to spill over the little control she managed over it, and so she used it as an excuse to stay away.

It did not mean, however, that she avoided her magic.

Sasha decided to do exactly what her grandmother had warned her against during the course of their lessons— _never just wing it. It's more than a science; it's about tradition and intuition, and it can so easily go terribly wrong._ And Cookie hadn't been wrong about that; Sasha certainly fucked up more often than not, but she learned from every mistake she made. She organized herself, and it felt good to take control, even if she wasn't entirely sure what she was doing. She pushed herself beyond the caution of just reading from books and grimoires; she threw herself headfirst into practicing magic, starting immediately with spells that, even if they might have been more difficult, she felt more useful than the basic, beginner spells Cookie had started her on.

Her current focus? Defensive spellcasting.

Magic fell into more categories than she could count, and many magics intersected. One umbrella had twenty more beneath it, and every umbrella put together seemed to form a vast family tree of interconnected magics. There was elemental magic (though her Fire Affinity was something she'd yet to touch, absolutely terrified of fire as she was) and there was emotive magic that derived from feelings. The two were closely knitted together, drawing on each other and affecting each other in powerful and important ways. Sasha learned that some spells she tried were stronger if she felt the emotions associated with them, and a closer reading on the subject had revealed useful information; anger gave spells power, but often a dangerous, boost so strong it made it difficult to control the magic. Fear, as she'd learned the hard way, took power away; happiness and love gave incredible energy to white magics, especially those of the healing nature.

Without the pressure and parameters that Cookie had forced on her, Sasha was able to take the basics and apply them in a way much more comfortable to her, and she was already proud of her tentative results. She wasn't moved moving mountains and making literal tidal waves with it, but it was something, and she was proud to call it her own.

Currently, she was attempting to make a protective talisman.

Sasha twitched her nose over her cauldron. She was seated on the dining room table, sweats-clad legs crossed like a bright pink pretzel. Her hair was wrapped up in a scarf, as she'd finally learned to do so to keep certain potions from sending her curls into a frizzy mess. The old radio she'd picked up at a Bon Temps thrift store warbled the latest interview with a local favorite—Senator Andrews, the "Good Senator".

Apparently, he was doing the rounds of small talk shows and news stations in his never-ceasing effort to rally the 'common folk' and appeal to a younger demographic of voters. She'd seen only that morning a photo of him in the paper playing a _totally unstaged_ game of pick-up basketball with _local urban youths_.

 _Because yes_ , Sasha had thought, _that will certainly ensure the Black vote—a picture of you in a three-thousand dollar suit holding a basketball with black kids—sorry, 'local urban youths'_.

"… _have three daughters yourself,_ " the host was saying. " _Absolutely beautiful girls, if you'll permit me saying. Meredith is twenty-five, Jane is twenty-two, and Tiffany is seventeen. I have to ask—would you let them date a vampire?_ "

" _You have to ask, huh_?" chuckled Senator Christopher Andrews in response. " _Well look here—my daughters are yes, beautiful, but they are smart, independent women. I feel like what you're really asking me here is if I can control their actions, if I have the right to that,"_

"Oh yes," said Sasha sarcastically. "Now you get that feminist vote, Good Senator!'

"… _Tiffany is seventeen, so you can be sure I still feel like I have a say in her life. But my girls are adults, and I treat them like adults. My concern as a father is that they are well treated, well loved, and well respected. As a father, you can never stop worrying about your little girls—_ "

Sasha changed radio station with an eye roll until she landed on classic rock. Then she returned to her work.

"Citrusy," she announced decidedly, peeling her eyes away from the bubbling potion to peer at the grimoire perched on her knee. She had to stir the potion every minute on the dot, clockwise and then counter clockwise every other time, and she'd found that resting on the tabletop was the most comfortable perch. Her index finger found the next set of instructions, checking that she'd had it right.

So far, so very good.

"Three more minutes," she told herself. Three more stirs.

Her phone rang then, and she reached for it blindly, most of her attention on her potion. Her hand knocked over a glass vial of fisheyes before landing on her Blackberry.

"What?" she answered distractedly.

" _And a good evening to you as well,_ " came Eric's sarcastic greeting. She rolled her eyes.

"I'm sure you can feel that I'm very focused. What couldn't wait?" she asked, checking the minute-glass in front of her. The second the last grain of sand ran out, she flipped it and then stirred the potion once, counter-clock wise.

" _Aren't you pleasant tonight? Yes I could feel your concentration, amongst other things. I got curious,_ " admitted Eric.

"Fangtasia must be boring you, then," said Sasha.

" _The bar, yes. Fangtasia…not so much_ ," Eric said. She frowned at that; there was just a lot underlying that comment she didn't even want to begin to unpack. She could hear… _something_ in the background. A muffled scream? A moan? She just couldn't tell what it was.

"Right, so I'm kind of busy, so…"

" _Doing?_ "

"Cooking," she said flatly. "You know, the special kind?"

" _Cute_ ," said Eric. " _You can speak freely. No one can here you. Well, no one that matters,"_

She heard the sound again, then the phone became muffled as Eric said something to someone. For a moment, her attention slipped off her potion

"Eric, what are you doing, exactly?"

" _Getting your present nice and ready,"_ said Eric. " _I'm also calling to request your presence at Fangtasia. In an hour or so. Dress…dress like you are mine. Because you are,"_

Eric hung up, leaving Sasha to glare at her Blackberry for a moment. Just when she thought their arrangement wasn't so bad…

"Not now," she muttered to herself, turning her phone face down and returning her attention to her potion. She'd all but pushed thoughts of him out of her mind when she received a text. Sighing, Sasha flipped her phone back over.

 _Wear red._

Again she rolled her eyes, picking up her old gold ring and turning it over in her hand. 'An hour or so' gave her just enough time to finish her potion and brace herself for whatever Eric had in mind, and the sure possibility of running into Pam.

* * *

Sasha had braced herself for nothing. Pam was nowhere to be found when she set foot in Fangtasia. But one thing was clear: she certainly commanded the attention of every vampire in the bar as she stepped inside.

She was glad she had followed Eric's advice (instruction) and dressed up. She held her head up high, ignoring the stares as she made her way to Eric's office. But one vampire flashed in front of her, brown eyes wide.

"Sasha!" he exclaimed. "I am so fucking sorry—I got reamed out by Eric—totally deserved it of course—I'm so sorry. I had no idea, it's my fault anything happened to you. I wouldn't have offered you that drink if I'd known."

"Daniel, Daniel," Sasha held a hand up to grab his. "Don't worry about it. There's no way you could have known. Please, don't apologize for something that you didn't do,"

"He could have been more vigilant,"

Eric had appeared behind her, his arm coming to wrap around her waist. She stumbled into him, taken off guard by his touch. "But Daniel now knows to treat what's mine with care, doesn't he?"

"Yes he does," said Daniel, eyes falling for a moment to Eric's tight clasp on her waist. They shot back up, forcing a smile. Sasha could tell he wanted nothing more than to disappear from view, from any possible punishment Eric might dish out—or perhaps further punishment. Sasha frowned at the thought. Eric couldn't possibly blame Daniel for the psychotic newborn, could he?

"Get back to work," Eric finally said, releasing him. Daniel disappeared as quickly as he'd arrived.

Eric's hand moved off her hip to take her hand in his, spinning her around slowly, making a show of how he drank her in. Sasha kept his gaze; while typically his bedroom eyes would make her weak in the knees, she found that her annoyance at his behavior was putting an easy barrier between the attraction she might ordinarily feel for him.

"Red suits you incredibly," said Eric, bringing her hand up to his mouth. She resisted the urge to snatch her hand away—she understood he was putting on a show for the vampires in the room, but he didn't have to be so fucking smarmy about it.

The dress she wore—red, as he'd specified—was a little vintage number from the '90s, with simple thin black straps and tight from bust to thigh ending mid-thigh. She'd worn sheer black tights and simple, strappy red shoes.

After giving her one last glance over, Eric gestured to the back of the bar. "My office," he said simply.

* * *

The last time she'd been in his office, Eric had known what she was, though he hadn't let her in on that fact. He'd also been furious by what he perceived as a betrayal on her part, and he'd warned her about staying away from Fangtasia. Though she could remember that look in his eyes, that look of utter contempt, so well it all seemed like a lifetime ago. So much had changed in such a short time—now she was his, and if his behavior was going to continue to be like it had just been, she was going to have a serious fucking problem with it.

And She would _so_ let him know that.

Sasha made herself comfortable on the low black couch in the corner, waiting patiently for Eric to say something. But Eric simply laid himself out on the other end of the couch—though it was so small his folded knee touched her thigh. He was smirking; he knew just how much she'd disliked his little display out on the floor.

But first things first.

"I have something for you," said Sasha, breaking the silence finally. "Well, for Pam,"

She produced a small blue velvet pouch from her little purse, handing it over to Eric. Eric's look of surprise was worth it; he took it, opening the pouch by its drawstrings carefully.

"And this is? Other than not at all her taste?" asked Eric. "Wait—I recognize this. You wore this ring when we first met. But it had rubies,"

"Yes," said Sasha. "I've been practicing protective charm and amulets. The ring will grow hot when there's danger nearby for the wearer,"

"What a sweet gift for my progeny," drawled Eric suspiciously. "The very same vampire that wanted you dead, and here you are, making her friendship jewelry,"

Sasha shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a nice witch,"

"Sasha," Eric said warningly, his brow creasing.

She rolled her eyes. "It does exactly what I said it does. And maybe, yeah, it'll cause her some…mild discomfort if it's ever activated. It won't kill her. It won't even hurt her, not really,"

Eric held her gaze for a moment longer, like he wasn't entirely sure whether to believe her or not.

"Hey," she said, reaching out for his hand. "I owe Pam. Please just let me have this,"

Eric looked down at her hand over his.

"It won't harm her?" Eric confirmed.

"Promise,"

Eric sighed, placing the ring back into its pouch. "Very well. I'll kindly suggest she wear it,"

"Thank you," Sasha said brightly. Eric frowned at her expression, like it was already making him rethink his decision.

"So, you had a present for me?" said Sasha, changing the subject before he changed his mind.

"I too have jewelry for you, oddly enough," said Eric. "Though I'm afraid it isn't to your taste,"

Sasha cocked her head curiously as Eric reached into his coat pocket for a small jewelry case. He dropped it lightly into her outstretched palm. She opened it, a gasp leaving her as her eyes fell onto a pair of gorgeous, ruby earrings. Little diamonds and emeralds circled the two rubies, and just below, two white—

Sasha yelped, dropping the earrings. Eric caught them neatly before they hit the ground, like he'd been expecting her to drop them.

"Are those _fangs_? What the fuck Eric?!" she exclaimed, eyes wide as she stared at the pair of vampire fangs that dangled from the two rubies. "Is this a fucking joke—oh my god are those—those aren't—"

"No," Eric said quickly and very seriously. "Even if I had—I would never parade my Progeny's fangs like this, not even for you, witch,"

A brief pause.

"But, those of the vampire that kidnapped you…"

Sasha's wide-eyes met Eric's, and a hand she hadn't even realized she'd placed over her mouth slowly moved away. "You mean these…these are…"

"These belong to the vampire 'Mac', yes," Eric said carefully, watching her closely. He was sitting up now, no longer leisurely reclining. He leaned towards her, grasping her chin with his hand.

"I am fulfilling my part of the bargain. I promised you protection—you will have it. My claim will, of course, deter most—but as we have seen with Mac and his little nest, there are those that don't care for vampire formalities, only their own fangs," here he smirked darkly. "I ask that you only wear these once, tonight, and let every vampire in my club understand what will happen if they dare touch what is mine. Word will spread hereafter,"

There was something dark and powerful stirring behind Eric's eyes, something that made Sasha grow still and quiet, hardly daring to breathe. She was incredibly aware of Eric's power and age in a moment she had never been before—even on the rare occasion she had actually been afraid in his presence, it as never quite like this. This was awe and even a small hint of fear, of processing what it meant to have this particular ancient and strong being pledging to protect her.

 _Like it or not_ , said Sasha. _He's just promised to kill for you_ , she realized. It really hit her then, and she wasn't so sure how to feel about it. Sasha felt that she should have known immediately—perhaps been repulsed by him, by the earrings he placed in her hands. Instead she felt…

Strong. No, no Sasha felt… _powerful_. That was it. It was somewhat heady, and it was something that she had never felt before like this, not even when she'd been living with Malachi's nest. And why not? She'd had a King's protection.

Eric's expression broke in favor of a small, quiet chuckle.

"I think you'll like being mine more than you'll care to admit,"

She ignored that.

"Fine," said Sasha. "I'll wear them. Just the once."

"Mm," Eric hummed, like he was satisfied she had agreed, but she hadn't had a choice in the first place. "Put your hair up,"

Sasha did so, piling her curls in a messy knot atop her head. Eric nodded in approval, and she was glad when he reached for the earrings and carefully poked them through her ears so that she did not have to directly touch them.

"Ready?" asked Eric, rising to his feet. She looked up at him; when her head tilted, she became incredibly aware of the fangs dangling under her ears. He offered his hand, and she accepted it, letting him pull her to her feet.

"One more thing," said Eric.

"Oh god," groaned Sasha. "If it's another wearable body-part—"

"I promise it isn't," said Eric, grinning. "I'm part of a board—the Shreveport Business Bureau,"

"Really?" Sasha asked, once again taken by surprise by Eric Northman.

"Really," he said. "As you might imagine, given the State and politics, there are many on the Committee that can't stand my being a vampire,"

"I'd imagine, yeah," said Sasha, frowning. "And?"

"And in the past, when I've been obligated to attend dinners and galas, I've brought Pam as my date. She somehow always finds a way to be…"

"A bitch? Heinous?" offered Sasha. "A heinous bitch?"

"I was going to say off putting," Eric said curtly.

"Ah,"

"I thought you might accompany me. Having a human as my date will win me points and put the other attendees at considerable ease," said Eric.

"Sounds boring," said Sasha. "When?"

"Tomorrow night,"

"That's short notice," said Sasha. "And if I have plans?"  
Eric arched an eyebrow at her, and she saw irritation stir beneath his surface.

"Then you'll cancel them," he said shortly. "I can be polite, but this isn't request. Under the terms of our deal, you work for me. Consider this business,"

He was, of course, right. She didn't even have any plans, and this certainly wasn't some twisted, horrible thing he was asking of her. If anything, she was flattered—so why was she being so difficult with him? Eric seemed to be trying to work out the same.

"Fine," said Sasha. "Wait,"

"What now?"

"These fangs," said Sasha, reaching up to the earrings. Her fingers stopped just short of touching them. "He's still alive, right?"

"Yes," said Eric. "He and his remaining nest mates were arrested by Catherine's progeny,"

"Oh," said Sasha, frowning. "He'll, they'll all go to trial, right? They won't…I know most vampires won't care, but they killed, _toyed_ with so many humans, and after what they did to me—"

Her heart began pumping strongly in her chest, just the very thought of Mac and his nest mates out and about in the night again causing fear to spike.

She was surprised when Eric placed his hands on either side of her face, leaning down to be eye level with her.

"I promise you that won't happen, Sasha Buckley. Believe me when I say that he is suffering for what he and his progenies did to you,"

Sasha nodded slowly.

She believed him.

* * *

Eric could feel worry bubble up in her, and he had not thought that she would still be so concerned with the newborn now that she was safe. He was glad he had not told her that the vampire in question was currently in his basement, and currently missing more than just fangs. Occasionally, when the music changed, Eric's ears picked up the occasional agonized moan of the vampire Mac.

When her heart rate kicked up, Eric placed his hands on Sasha's cheeks, the contrast of his cold, hard hands against her soft, hot, plump cheeks like ice and fire. He tilted her head up, stroking his thumbs under the roundness of her cheekbones.

"I promise you that won't happen, Sasha Buckley. Believe me when I say that he is suffering what he and his progenies did to you."

He was somewhat surprised how quickly her heart returned to restful, how her eyes, gold and green, filled with relief, with implicit trust of his word.

"Good," he said, stepping back. "Now be as you are. Strong."

Sasha followed him out of his office, her footfall sure and steady behind him. He could imagine that her chin was up, that she'd fixed her expression to mask any underlying discomfort she felt. He could tell she hated those earrings; he was still mildly surprised she hadn't thrown a fit over having to wear them. Then again, he shouldn't have been so surprised. She might not have been as acclimated to the brutality of vampires as she might have previously thought before leaving her nest, but Eric could see that was quickly changing.

He took his seat on his throne, gesturing for her to sit next to him. Daniel had placed a chair by his throne for her, and Sasha took a seat in it, her arms finding home on the long armrests, hands curling loosely at the ends. Her legs, looking so much longer than he knew them to be beneath her little dress, crossed lazily at her knee. She looked good—but it was her face that enchanted him, that caused him to stare for just a moment too long.

Sasha wasn't just an expressionless girl sitting next to him. For a woman so warm—the cinnamon of her skin, the brightness of her eyes, the gold and brown of her hair—she looked cold. She looked hard and beautiful, like she'd been sculpted out of ice, and like she was sitting exactly where she belonged.

She looked like a fucking queen.

She caught his gaze, and only because he'd come to know her did he notice the minute change in her expression, the slight quirk at her lips that indicated her question. Eric smirked slowly. There was nothing to say; there had been a time when he'd wanted Sookie Stackhouse, where he would have claimed her for her telepathy and for more. But he had never been able to see her like this, to see her as anything other than a girl with the occasional ferocity to keep up with his kind, to fit her so squarely at her side.

Daniel came up to them, placing a bottle of Tru Blood next to Eric—for show. To Sasha, and with an incredibly apologetic expression, he held out a drink, one of the usual concoctions he'd made for her. Eric watched Sasha carefully; she only wavered for a moment, and he knew that she wasn't so eager to be in his bar after her last experience, much less to accept a drink she had not watched being made. But then something miraculous happened

Her eyes shifted to him. He didn't think she realized it, but they did. To the rest of the room he knew it looked like she was asking his permission—and oh was the room looking—but he knew what she was doing. Her instinct had been to look at him for confirmation, for assurance that she would have the drink and be all right, unlike the last time.

He nodded almost imperceptibly, and Sasha's fingers closed around the stem of the glass. Daniel bowed his head and left.

Sasha, despite what she felt, lifted the glass to her lips. And, Eric knew, she did it because he'd told her it was safe.

* * *

After her night at Fangtasia, Sasha had slept in, knowing she'd likely have a long night ahead of her with Eric at his gala. When she finally did roll out of bed, she did so leisurely, taking her time in the shower. She'd dreamt of Eric—his blood was of course still strong enough in her system that she knew _those_ particular dreams were here to stay for a while, and she hoped he'd have the tact not to bring them up when he arrived.

He'd promised her the prior evening that he'd have appropriate eveningwear delivered to her home, and she was therefore unsurprised when she opened her front door and found an enormous white dress box wrapped complete with a black satin bow waiting for her. Her first thought was Chanel, but she was no disappointed to be proven wrong.

What did surprise Sasha was the style of the dress inside the box. It was a beautiful Zac Posen creation of layered emerald and blue tulle, giving the effect of some tropical sea. The bodice was tight, the full length arms sheer, and the skirt full; she'd expected Eric to pick some silky number with a thigh slit. She found accompanying gold shoes and a clutch to go along with the ensemble, as well as jewelry that was mercifully fang-free.

She'd tossed those particular earrings into the hidden compartment of the Camaro's trunk, not knowing what else to do with them.

By the time she was done with her make up and had finished putting her hair up in a careful chignon, Eric knocked on her door. Holding up the front of her dress (she'd been unable to fully do up the back zipper) she went to go greet him

Instead, her favorite _human_ blond was waiting at the door in a grey hoodie and dirty jeans.

"Jason. Hi," she greeted in surprise, feeling a little exposed to have answered the door how she had. Eric had seen all too much of her, no matter what he said about it, when he'd had to take care of her half-dead unconscious body, and he'd seen her on the brink of death. She didn't feel shy around him. Jason Stackhouse was another story.

"Shit. Wow," said Jason, earning a grin from her. "You look real good, Sasha,"

"Thanks Jason. What's up?"

"Just came by to check up on ya," said Jason. "We hadn't seen ya by Merlotte's in a while, not since Halloween. When Jess said she hadn't seen you in a few days either, Sam and I thought someone should check up on ya—ya'd be surprised by the shit that happens in this small town,"

 _No, at this point I really wouldn't_ , thought Sasha. Instead she smiled brightly at him. She was touched that they'd thought of her at all; she felt a little guilty now for neglecting her new friends. Humans always accused her of letting too much go by; she was simply used to vampires, and she didn't think about how much time passed.

"That's very sweet of you guys. I'm fine, thank you for asking," she told him. "Just been busy,"

"Yeah, yeah all right," said Jason, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck. She could tell he wanted to ask what she was busy with, but he seemed distracted by not staring openly at her chest. "Ya need help with your dress?"

"Yeah, thanks," she laughed, turning her back to him. His hands were warm and clammy, reminding her that it had been more than a few days since she'd had any _human_ interaction; lately she was surrounded by more death than usual, vampires and ghosts alike, her own having loomed dangerously near.

"Damn you're hot," muttered Jason.

"Excuse me?"

She glanced over her shoulder to Jason, who stared at her dumbly for a moment. "Oh, shit—I mean your back, your skin—hot," he said clearing his throat and stepping back. Her lips pressed together to keep from laughing at him.

"But, you know, also _ho_ t,"

Jason started, evidently shocked by Eric's appearance on the porch behind him. Sasha bit her lip as her eyes greedily drank the vampire in; it wasn't the first time she'd seen him in a tux, but she suspected that the sight wouldn't ever get old. Goddam he looked _fiiiiiine_.

Eric's eyes flicked to her over Jason's shoulder to Sasha in amusement as he sauntered to the door.

"Jason Stackhouse," greeted Eric. "Staying…" he swept his eyes over his comparatively frumpy appearance. "Keeping _clean_ , I presume?"

Jason shuffled uncomfortably, and Sasha frowned. What was Eric getting at?

"I see you're busy then," mumbled Jason. "Another time,"

He went to leave, clearly uncomfortable by the vampire's presence, but Eric stepped into his path.

"I think you'll find Sasha will be busy most nights," said Eric. "With me,"

Jason scoffed, but he seemed unwilling to contest the vampire's word. He shot her one last look—this one like he was disappointed in her, and left.

Sasha's arms folded across her chest as Eric came to stand just outside of the bungalow. She'd yet to invite him in, and though she'd planned on doing so earlier in case he arrived early, his behavior quickly changed her mind.

"What the hell was that?"

"What?" asked Eric innocently. " _That_? I was helping you out,"

"Helping me out?" she repeated in disbelief. "How, exactly? By coming across as threatening to my friends?"

"Friends," scoffed Eric. "With the puppy dog eyes, the way he was just touching you—Jason Stackhouse has never had a female _friend_ , and I can tell you he certainly won't start with you,"

"That is neither here nor there, because it's not your concern. I've never tolerated the possessive, controlling bullshit from past boyfriends, and you've got me fucked up if you think I'll take it from _you_ , Eric, just because you have some semblance of a Claim on me," she told him.

"Fine. My apologies," said Eric. He seemed amused more than anything, but she didn't think arguing with him here and now was going to further her point. She went back into the house to grab her beaded purse and slip into her shoes.

Perhaps because he sensed he'd put her in a mood, Eric remained the perfect gentleman thereafter. He complimented her so endlessly about her appearance ("The second I saw that dress I knew the colors would favor your complexion" and "I prefer your hair down, and yet you are so absolutely stunning when you have it pulled back from your face as you have it now, I'm torn between the two styles") and whether he was doing so to placate her or out of genuine sincerity, it worked. His flattering had brushed some of her annoyance out of the way, that and the fact that he hadn't even asked to drive (he'd flown in, apparently, and so they were taking the Camaro).

At first she thought he was teasing her, showing off how he'd be acting for the night; but as he went around to open the car door for her, at the same time complaining about a fuck up at Fangtasia, she realized that somewhere beneath the layers of ancient vampire and conniving Sheriff, he was simply just that: a gentlemen. This was no act, as far as she could tell. Eric had simply shed some of the defensive layers he had at Fangtasia; there were no vampires to pretend around now.

It brought an unwanted smile to her face.

Unsurprisingly, Eric was also excellent company when there weren't any life-threatening situations or illegal activities to worry after. He wasn't even _boring_ as a vampire his age might have been. Conversation flowed easily between them, and even idle chitchat was interesting. His pop-culture was more than dated, but before they'd even gotten to Shreveport, he had her excited about the museum that the event was being held at. Sasha didn't fancy modern art all that much, but Eric's surprising enthusiasm for it stirred her interest.

"Okay, so you're something of an art critic," said Sasha as she parked in front of Shreveport's Museum of Modern Art in line with others cars waiting for valets. Some of the attendees were getting dropped off in limousines and Town Cars, yet Eric had opted for driving—and having her drive, at that, in a flashy old car. She wondered how much of that was an act, Eric Northman as businessman, and how much it was simply himself.

"Are you also an artist?"

Eric gave her a look, like he wasn't so sure when this had turned into a game of twenty-questions at his expense.

"You won't find any of my work in museums," he told her.

"That's a cagey answer," she noted, stepping out of the car and handing her keys to the valet.

"It's also the only one you're getting tonight," Eric said smoothly, offering his arm to her.

The white front of the Shreveport Museum of Modern art had been blocked off, sectioning off the center of the steps leading up to the museum by a large red carpet. Curious bystanders stood on either side, and some clearly had a point they were trying to make; activists were holding signs up and hoping to be noticed by one of the many minor politicians in attendance and the camera crews and reporters milling about. Eric maneuvered them through easily, not looking at all hurried but obviously wanting to simply get inside and out of the spotlight.

Sasha remembered what was now weeks ago, and she'd been at his bar, a little tipsy, and unable help but to observe the very same thing that many vampires in his bar had: why was Eric Northman not king? He'd told her he simply had no royal ambition, and while she'd believed him then, it was another thing now to see that modesty now.

She'd grown up with vampires, but specifically with Malachi's nest. Malachi had long since been king by the time she'd come around, but she'd grown up in an environment where she'd learned the behaviors and attitudes of people that wanted to constantly move up the ladder of politics and power. She'd seen it in her own father, before even meeting Malachi. To see a lack of that drive in Eric, a vampire that by most accounts should have wanted all those things…it was fascinating. Clearly he cared about his business, if he was here, but he didn't seem very cutthroat now.

"What is it?" asked Eric, glancing her way curiously.

"You are the strangest vampire I've ever met," said Sasha.

"Am I?"

"Definitely,"

Eric grinned evidently taking it as a compliment. They'd gotten close to the museum doors when a reporter stepped into their path, his russet toupee close to falling right off his head as he fumbled with a tape recorder nervously.

"Eric Northman!" he said. "Madison Mayberry—I'm with _The Shreveport Daily_ —care to answer a few questions?"

" _Suppose I ask for the name of his barber?_ " Eric muttered to her in French in her ear.

Sasha's eyes widened, and she just barely managed to turn a laugh into a cough. She pinched his side warningly, even as she melted a little at the crooked smile he shot her in return. That fucking smile could almost, _almost_ , make her forget this was the same fucker that had made her wear fang earrings the night before.

Then he put on a charming smile. "And what does _The Shreveport Daily_ want to know?"

"Well, you're the first vampire to be invited onto the Shreveport Business Bureau's Committee—how does that feel?"

"It's great to be here, of course. It's simply another step in normalizing the integration of our cultures, of propelling Shreveport into being a truly modern city. The Committee's doing great work, and I'm quite proud to be a part of it," said Eric.

"So you think that we—as a city—are moving in that particular direction?"

"I do," said Eric. Another charming smile. "I say this as a being that has been around for a while—modernity is about much more than technology. It all comes down to people, and how they accept what is different and new to them. There is no progress without acceptance of change,"

"So Eric Northman, businessman and vampire rights activist?" asked the reporter.

"I'm a businessman above all else," said Eric. "But don't make it my business to force my views on anyone. However, if you ask me, then I will freely say that we vampires deserve every right humans have. I'm an American citizen; I pay my taxes, I do what I can for my community. Is it too much to ask that I am treated as you are?"

"Well said," nodded Mason. "I notice your... _date_ …is human,"

Sasha arched an eyebrow, wondering why he stumbled over the word. Then she how his eyes searched her neck, then her arms, and shot down to her legs. They were, of course, hidden by her tulle skirt.

She knew what he was looking for; bite marks. She frowned, and felt Eric's eyes flick to her.

The two spoke for just a little while longer; the reporter threw her a half-assed compliment about her dress by the end of it, and Eric was able to get them into the museum after that.

Inside, it was much the same. They were approached several times, and Sasha was put-off by the exchanges that followed. She was largely ignored by the men that spoke to Eric—well, by everything but their unwanted gazes, anyway—and their wives eyed her with disdain. Even when Eric tried to introduce her into conversation, she was quickly shut out.

She tried hard not to let her annoyance and scorn show; instead she adopted a barely-there smile and studied the museum around them. There was only so much of the open-spaced, white stone room to drink in; she'd been in hundreds of museums, and this was hardly the nicest. She was left to counting ceiling tiles.

"It's not like you to be so quiet," said Eric, giving her a puzzled look as they were finally left alone. "Or aloof. The humans thought you were rude," he said disapprovingly.

"No, they think you brought along some fangbanger whore," said Sasha with a roll of her eyes.

Understanding lit Eric's blue eyes, and he cocked his head to the side, evidently to finally tune into the whispers around the room. "Ah. You're not wrong,"

"Racist fuckers," she muttered.

"Then speak up," said Eric. "You have a mouth, so use it. You don't seem to have a problem using it around vampires,"

"I thought you just wanted me as your arm candy," said Sasha. "Seen, not heard,"

"You misunderstood me then," said Eric. "While having you on my arm is certainly more than a little eye-catching, I'd be much more impressive if you acted like yourself. You're beautiful, yes, but you are very intelligent. If they have half a brain, they will recognize that beyond any preconceived notions they have...what?"

"I—," she smiled shyly, chewing on her lip for a moment. "You think I'm …very …intelligent?"

He was surprised by the sheer pride that flowed through her at his comment—and he realized for the first time that his opinion of her—not of her looks, not of his desire for her—were what truly flattered her. It was endearing to him. The feeling he was getting from her, he had only ever felt from his progeny.

"Incredibly so," he told her slowly. He watched blood fill her cheeks. "You realize I'm not saying this to flatter you, right?"

"I don't know," said Sasha. "A thousand year old vampire calling me intelligent sounds like a pretty big fucking compliment to me,"

"Northman!"

They turned to find a woman dressed in a demure black gown coming towards them. It was impossible to place her age; though her neck and shoulders told a different story, her cheekbones and forehead and lips had seen heavy, age-defying surgeries. Her skin was to orange to be naturally tanned, and her eyes hair was big and blonde.

For just a moment, Sasha thought she was home, just at another LA party filled with plastic Orange County trophy wives.

"Northman, this has to be some sort of damn vampire trick—you get more handsome each time I see you!" she crooned, moving in to kiss Eric's cheeks. Sasha's eyebrows shot up—the woman had _definitely_ copped a feel as she hugged him.

Eric shot Sasha just a hint of exasperation, but quickly fixed a flirtatious smile on his lips. "If it's just a vampire trick, then explain how radiant you look tonight, Moira,"

The woman laughed. "Oh my word, you are just too much," Then her eyes landed on Sasha, and she looked her over from head to toe with mounting interest.

"Moira Lorne, meet Sasha Buckley,"

"Donor?" she asked innocently as they shook hands.

"Excuse me?" asked Sasha, lifting an eyebrow.

"For the event," said Moira, smiling loftily as she gestured about the gallery. "I'm one of the event organizers—I don't remember seeing your name anywhere,"

"It wouldn't have been," said Sasha. "I'm Eric's plus one,"

"Sasha's my…" Eric paused deliberately as he smirked down at her, his arm casually tightening around her waist. "She's a close friend,"

"How 'bout that," drawled the woman. The envy was clear—she didn't make an effort to hide it, and that somehow made it less malicious.

"And now here comes my husband," she said giving a look to Eric that could only be described as apologetic.

"There you are Moira. I've been looking everywhere for you, I'd like you to come meet Christopher—Northman,"

Charles Lorne did not greet Eric with quite the same enthusiasm that his wife did. He looked absolutely appalled to even be shaking hands with Eric, but his hand lingered when he greeted Sasha, and she found her skin crawling by the time she pulled away. She moved closer to Eric, content when his hand came to rest on her hip once more.

"Left your _progeny_ at home, this time, did you?" Charles said stiffly.

"I'm afraid soirees like these aren't Pamela's forte," said Eric. "And I thought I'd show this _enchanting_ creature off,"

Sasha fought the urge to roll her eyes; he was definitely laying it on thick, and she didn't miss how he teased her with his word choice.

"Well, someone has to remind him the difference between _hors d'oeuvre_ and the people who serve them," Sasha said slyly. Charles stiffened further, if possible; Moira's eyes widened in surprise, then she let out a loud peel of laughter.

"Oh, you are a _bad_ one, aren't you? What a funny girl you have, Northman," said Moira. Charles managed a weak, fake smile, though Sasha noticed with amusement that he still looked a little pale.

"So you've worked together on the Board?" Sasha asked politely when conversation lulled.

"Yes. My husband is terribly busy, and there's only so much shoppin' a girl can do before she gets bored. So I like to help out in the community—I'm the one who led the votes to bring Northman onto the board. I've always been _very_ progressive,"

Sasha bit on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing; the woman had no shame, not even with her clearly vampire-abhorrent husband standing right next to her.

"We're currently working on a new fundraiser,"

"You are?" Charles sputtered. "It's the first I've heard of it,"

"We were thinking a blood drive," said Moira. "Northman thinks vampires at such an event will draw a lot of attention, and a lot of curious volunteers looking to get their first look at vampires. He's even offered up his bar to host the thing. I couldn't agree more. Ain't it funny—vampire's at a blood drive?"

Charles still appeared irritable. "Very well, I'll look over your application—once it's been sent to my office. I warn you, it might be some time before my office is ready to review it for a license,"

"I'm sorry, which license?" asked Sasha, butting in as politely as she could. Charles was making her blood boil.

"A fundraising registration. I head the office for these things," dismissed Charles. "Of course, we'll need forms—your most recent IRIS 990 for one, and of course there are the fees,"

"He'd be exempt, surely," said Sasha, smiling directly at Charles oh-so politely. "If Eric is only providing the venue—Fangtasia as a locale for the even, there's no need. Partnering up with Shreveport Medical, and any fundraiser falls under them. Which means that by state law the fundraiser is exempt. So no forms, no fees,"

Charles glared at her for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I suppose so, if that were the case,"

Moira glanced between Sasha, Eric, and Charles, a smile tugging at her lips. "Well, then I believe that's settled. Always a pleasure, Northman. I hope we'll be seeing more of this one,"

"Very nice," Eric told her once they were alone. "I knew religious groups were exempt, I was unaware of the medical loophole,"

"No problem," she told him. "That guy is such a piece of work. It just felt good to fuck with him,"

"Charles is no fan of the fang," said Eric. "And he personally does not like me, given how fond his wife is of me,"

"I noticed," grinned Sasha. "Have you ever…?"

"Are you really asking me that?"

"I don't know what your type is," said Sasha, pausing to observe a sculpture. It was a mess of silverware, half melted into a ball. She pretended to observe it, even though she thought it was ugly as hell, not liking the dangerous territory she felt she'd unwittingly brought up.

"What _do_ you think my type is, exactly?" asked Eric coming up behind her as she finished circling the little statue. Yeah, she hated it.

"Female," she said with a shrug.

He looked a little offended at that, and she rolled her eyes.  
"Didn't you say you'd show me around this museum and make me love modern art by the end of it?" she asked.

"I did. So let's go,"

They'd just finished the North Gallery when Eric tapped her elbow, nodding across the room. "Now there's a surprise. I wasn't aware the Good Senator was making an appearance,"

Sasha, having just taken a sip from her champagne glass—Eric had kept them coming all night for her—gasped, coughing as it bubbled down the wrong way.

"Are you all right?" asked Eric, placing a hand at her back.

"Peachy," she wheezed, glancing up. But it was too late; she'd caused something of a commotion, and one of the pair of eyes that landed on her was that of Senator Christopher Andrews.

And he was making his way over.

" _Fuck_ ," Sasha hissed under her breath, wiping angrily at her watery eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"You didn't tell me the fucking Senator was here, Eric,"

"I just said I didn't know—"

"Good evening," greeted Senator Andrews, coming to a stop before them. He was a handsome man in his late fifties, with dark eyes and hair, skin pale from time spent shut up in offices and rooms on Capitol Hill. "You must be Eric Northman, the vampire that has everyone talking tonight,"

He attempted to come across as polite, but there was a dark inkling to his tone lying beneath.

"Senator Andrews, it's my pleasure," said Eric. "This is Sasha Buckley,"

"Hi," she said flatly. She could feel a headache coming on.

"Hello," greeted Senator Andrews, eyes glued to Sasha.

Eric glanced between the two, puzzled. "You two know each other," he realized.

"Yeah," said Sasha shortly.

"You don't know?" Senator Andrews said in surprise.

"Apparently not," said Eric, looking down at Sasha in exasperation.

"I..."

"Can I speak to you for a moment? In private?" added Christopher.

Sasha sighed.

"Eric, do you mind?"

Eric did look like he minded, but he simply stepped aside, telling her he'd wait for her there.

* * *

Eric pretended to admire the art, but his focus was on listening to Sasha and Senator Andrews as they wandered a ways away. Fortunately for him, they stopped to talk beneath an arched alcove that only echoed their voices for his keen hearing. Sasha, he thought, should have known better. Or maybe she'd done it on purpose, or maybe she just didn't care about him overhearing.

How was it that she knew the Senator? She'd been born in Louisiana, sure, but even then, she'd been born before he was anyone of influence, much less of importance. He was still very knew to his position. Did she know him, somehow, because of King Jakande? Was the King of California that involved in human politics?

"I don't understand what you're doing here with him. You're not—tell me you aren't _with_ him, Sasha. Not his, his—"

"His dinner? No Christopher, I'm not and I really wish people would stop assuming that," she said dryly. "We're…friends,"

"Friends," repeated Christopher. "Sasha a man like that—a _vampire like him_ —does not have _friends_."

" _Worried_ about me? That's a fucking first," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "I seem to remember that the last time we saw each other, you weren't too worried when your wife and precious daughters treated me like trash. Or when—"

"I know, I know," said Christopher. "And I am more sorry for my behavior towards you than you will ever know. But Sasha, Eric Northman has a reputation—"

"Don't warn me about Eric. It doesn't matter what you say about him," she said scathingly. "Have a nice night, Christopher. Maybe I'll see you in December, assuming you can sneak away from your family long enough to have dinner with me,"

The Senator called after her, but Eric could hear how decisive Sasha was in walking away from him by the sure, quick click of her heels on the floor.

She found him staring but not quite seeing a small painting of an abstract cat.

"Cute," she said of the painting, though he could tell her heart was not in the compliment. He flicked through the emotions coming off her end of their bond, inspecting each one with interest. She was certainly upset, though he could not feel that spark of magic that indicated she might be on the verge of self-control. No, she was simply thoroughly annoyed, and…disappointed, he thought.

Eric waited for Sasha to say something, but other than expressing an interest in moving onto the next room of the museum, she remained silent. She did thread her arm through his, and he didn't think it had much to do with appearances so much as she was seeking some modicum of comfort from him.

By the fourth painting, his patience wore thin.

"So you know the Good Senator," he prompted.

"Uh-huh," she said reluctantly. "What do you think of this one?"

Eric's eyes glanced at the enormous canvas they stood before. It was purely white.

"Bland," he said, eyes flicking back to her.

"I kind of like it," said Sasha. "It's…sad. Sad and lonely. Just look at it. Actually look at it,"

Eric sighed impatiently, deciding to indulge her before he pursued his line of questioning. It was, as he'd first observed, a blank canvas. Well, not quite blank, no—it had been painted over with white paint. He doubted Sasha picked up the details he could—the longer he stared, the more his eyes focused on the distinct brush strokes, the minute variations in the shades of white. He wondered what she saw; come to think of it, how the _painter_ had seen what he saw. The brush strokes formed two images; thick ropes from opposing corners of the canvas, reaching towards each other at the center of the canvas and forming a single knot. Each brushstroke threw the paint into just enough relief to form the details of a rope.

It had to have been painted by a vampire, Eric decided. Then, when he glanced back down at the girl, no the _witch_ on his arm, he couldn't help but smirk a little. How was it that she had, unbeknownst to her, found and become so struck by the work of one of his kind?

"Sasha?"

She turned up to look at him, and he was the one struck now; there was something so...young and vulnerable about her beneath her evening glam, something that had not been there before, or that he had somehow overlooked.

"Promise not to use it against me?"

Wasn't he always making her promises? Eric nodded once, shortly, waiting for her to continue. But she wasn't satisfied by his response.

"Say it,"

"Fine. I promise,"

Her eyes flicked over his shoulder before returning to him.

"He's…Christopher is my dad," she said quietly.

"Your—" Eric trailed off in surprise, eyes widening. By the conversation he'd been listening to, his first guess had been some kind of affair—though he had not wanted to believe it, unwilling to comprehend how _Christopher Andrews_ had somehow bedded her and he'd so far failed to. By the sour look that Sasha was giving him, she'd followed his exact train of thought.

"We're estranged," said Sasha. "Obviously. I might as well as not even be his daughter," she said, laughing a bit. She didn't fool him with it. She was hurting. "I mean, I guess that can be said for either of my parents, right? Most parents divorced parents fight over who gets the kid—mine basically did the opposite,"

 _Oh_ —the tide of her emotions turned—all traces of annoyance gone, swallowed up by a sea of despair. This was nothing like what she'd felt in the aftermath of her kidnapping. This was something entirely knew, something she carried around with her always, something that was simply bubbling up now from wherever she kept it locked up tight, triggered by the unexpected appearance of her father.

Eric's eyes found the Senator's back in the crowd across the room once more. What kind of man did nothing when his only daughter ran from home, when she felt she had nothing more to do than join a nest of vampires as a child? He felt his protective instinct for her flare. He'd since put together that much of her relations with her vampires was due to the nature of her relationship—or lack there of—with her own human parents. But this revelation revealed a far deeper insight into Sasha Buckley, but Eric felt a lack of triumph at this newest discovery. Her protectiveness of Jack, her...dependence on the vampire Jakande, the reverence with which she spoke of him, like he was her vampire Maker…

"We can leave, if you'd like," Eric told her.

She smiled sadly at him, if a little curiously. "I'm fine, really. I accepted a long time ago I'm not the daughter he wanted—he's got a knew family now, the family he hasn't pretended not to have. They're all blonde and perfect and fit into his political career _just_ right. I just wasn't expecting to seeing him here, that's all. And as I'm sure you overheard, last time we saw each other didn't go all that well,"

She paused, frowning.

"Why are my human family—dead _and_ alive, such dicks?"

Eric let out a small laugh, a little surprised by her omission. He could feel her control over her emotions quickly taking over. She was putting up her walls again.

"Is he?"

"Oh yeah—you've seen him on TV I'm sure," she said. "And I'll bet anything you were listening to our conversation. He's so interested in appealing to the public, to both sides—both _human_ sides—he's never really standing for anything, not really. Like for vampires—like just make up your fucking mind and stick to your guns. If you accept vampires, accept them. If you don't, don't. Shit, I'd respect him more if he didn't, but was at least upfront about it,"

"You can't choose who your parents are," said Eric. "But you can choose who you are,"

"Well I choose not to be a dick," she muttered.

Eric's lips twitched, and he pressed a quick kiss at her temple. She looked pleasantly surprised by the gesture, and when he offered his hand she took it, letting him walk them further into the exhibit.

* * *

Sasha picked up a strawberry, admiring the thick dark chocolate it was coated in for a moment. The sun caught the beads of condensation on it, causing it to glisten, the chocolate just starting to melt.

When she bit into it, the chocolate cracked and crumbled around her lips, the fruit's sweet red juices running down her chin.

"You make it so easy to imagine you vampire," murmured Eric.

Sasha's gaze flicked from the strawberry in her hand to Eric Northman. He was sprawled in the grass, looking like he never had before. His skin was still marble pale, but the sun gave it a sheen the moon couldn't, gave his hair a golden glow and eyes a blazingly clear intensity the stars didn't.

"Don't start with me," she told him, rolling her eyes.

"Only an observation," said Eric, grinning mischievously. He sat up instantly, leaning in and licking the sweet strawberry juice from her chin, licking up to her mouth and pulling her into a wet, dizzying kiss.

"Mm," he hummed, eyes hooded as he pulled away from her. "Second only to your blood. Well, third, if we count your—"

"Eric," she warned, wiping at the corners of her mouth with a thumb.

"Sasha," he teased playfully, taking her hand into his. She watched as he took her thumb into his mouth, teasing her flesh with his tongue. She bit down on her lip, eyes glued to where his pink flesh met her dark skin—

Sasha pulled away, holding up her book.

"I'm trying to concentrate, and you promised not to be a distraction," she told him as sternly as she could.

Eric shook his head, leaning on an elbow as his free hand moved down to her calf. He pulled her closer, and she yelped as she slid across the grass and towards him.

Now facing her directly, Eric brushed his lips against hers. "I never promised, because you and I both knew I would have been lying. Put the book down, _min lilla flamma_ ,"

This time Sasha bit her lip to keep from smiling. She cupped Eric's chin, leaned in and pressed a quick, sweet kiss to his lips, "Don't pull out the Swedish pet names, _kära_ , it's not happening right now,"

Eric hummed once more, that sound that was low deep and affected her right at her core. "Fire fights with fire," he teased. "Your little witchy book will be there an hour or two from now. Besides, you don't think I noticed you were a tiny little sundress that buttons up at the front?"

Sasha rolled her eyes, but this time when he kissed her she didn't pull away. Her fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. Eric's arm wound around her waist as he lowered her back to the grass, his kiss deepening as her hands began to wander, grimoire forgotten on the grass beside them. Her skin, aided by the heat of the sun and that in her belly, felt hot against his cool body, hotter when his fangs scraped against her neck.

Eric pulled away, knocking his nose against hers in affection as his hands made quick work of the buttons at the top of her sundress, exposing her caged breasts to the warm afternoon glow. His mouth descended on them, a fang scraping around a nipple—

"Oh my _goddess_ —"

Sasha's popped open at the offended exclamation, eyes widening as her eyes landed on her grandmother. With an audible _pop!_ Eric, the grassy field around them, the warm sun, disappeared. Sasha was mercifully covered as she sat upright in her bed, glaring furiously at Cookie Stackhouse as she stood over her bed, arms folded.

Flushed brightly just about everywhere from her blood-fueled dream, Sasha exclaimed.

"What the actual fuck?!" she glanced down at herself just to be sure was fully clothed once more—despite the throbbing between her legs and the unfulfilled feeing at the pit of her stomach, she realized that she wasn't actually awake. This was simply another dream, though the setting had changed.

"Did you dream-walk into my dream?" she accused Cookie. "Oh my _god_ —"

Cookie, looking a mixture of disgusted an embarrassed, finally glanced at her. "You left me no choice. I can't leave the Manor grounds, and you haven't been to see me—but I see you're just fine, child. Goddess knows how worried I've been about you, and here you are, dreaming, dreaming _salacious_ dreams about that walking dead thing,"

"Well here's an idea," said Sasha sternly, folding her arms across her chest. She was _not_ about to be shamed by her grandmother over a sex dream—especially one she had no control over. She simply refused to be embarrassed. "Stay out of my head,"

Now it was Cookie that looked the most embarrassed. "I didn't know how else to contact you. I've been trying for days, but your guards have been up. They slipped just now—though I wished I hadn't seen why—"

"Now that you know I'm fine, you can leave," said Sasha. She tried to focus on pushing her grandmother out, but her spirit was strong—stronger even than Renée had been. "I don't want to see you, or talk to you—just looking at you is pissing me off,"

She was ignored. Cookie came around closer to her, hovering a hand over her.

"Something's changed…your energy, it's different," said Cookie, watching her wearily. "It's stronger—you've been using your magic more. But there's something…something else…something foreign,"

Sasha slapped her hands away, surprised when she actually made contact with Cookie's hands. She stared down at her in shock; in her dream, she could actually touch her. Her amazement only last a moment.

"Sasha what happened to you, baby?" asked Cookie worriedly.

"I almost died," she said. "Eric saved my life,"

"Tell me he didn't. Babygirl tell me _you_ didn't—"

Sasha rose out of bed, shaking her head. "Are you—are you telling me you'd rather I was _dead_ then having Eric's blood in me?"

"Baby _no_ , never but—but Eric Northman—"

"Yes, actually," Sasha cut her off, stepping closer. "Let's talk about Eric Northman, since you don't seem to want to leave. Let's talk about how you seem to have forgotten to tell me I'd met him before. Let's talk about how, now that I think about it, seems to be more honest with me than you ever have been. Actually—what have you been honest about, since meeting me?"

Cookie shook her head. Tears were forming in her eyes, and Sasha felt a twinge of regret— _no. This isn't for you to feel bad about. You're not the one that's been lying._

"I was afraid of this. You're takin' his every word against me—"

"Actually, he hasn't said a single word against you, because that would serve against his self-interest. He wants me to be skilled in the Craft, since I'm his now. But at least I know _his_ motives. What are yours, exactly?"

Cookie's eyes narrowed. "Don't speak of things you don't know, child. You have been resentful and unaccepting of me since the first day you came to the Manor. I'll bet I wouldn't have to word so hard to gain your trust if I had a pair of fangs. You've been so brainwashed by those fangs—"

"Stop!" shouted Sasha. Heat surged through her veins, burning through the cautious side of her. "Don't _you_ talk about things you don't understand. I am brainwashed! You just can't accept that the reason I don't trust you is because you broke that trust before I even met you! You talk about magic and power and family and blood—where is all that? Because two months under your so-called tutelage and I couldn't even protect myself when I needed to. I still don't know jack-shit about my mother except a few vague, cute anecdotes. Honestly, I don't even know if those are real—you lied about Eric, what else are you lying about?"

"Calm down," Cookie said carefully. "You're upset, and you need to calm _down_ ,"

Sasha's temper flared at the words, crackling in the air around them. "Don't you dare tell me to calm down! I'm _angry_ god dammit, and I'm sick of everything. I'm sick of this snail-pace you've got me at. I'm sick of being defenseless, of always having to figure shit out on my own because the people that are suppose to be my family are always putting their own goddam agendas before _me_ —"

"Sasha! Wake up!" Cookie seized her by the shoulders. A spark like electricity traveled through Cookie's palms and into Sasha, jolting her awake.

Sasha gasped, sitting upright and wheezing a hand catching her as she fell into a coughing fit. Thick black smoke clouded above her—she looked around, eyes watering—

Flames were licking up the walls of her bedroom.

. The wallpaper of her bedroom shrunk up the walls in curls of fire—the beams above her were charring through, debris falling around her.

Sasha screamed, cowering at the center of her bed as the flames around her crackled and flared taller, stronger.

* * *

 **I know I'm evil. I took so long to update (to be fair, FF wasn't exactly playing nicely with me, as per fucking usual) so technical difficulties set this back a bit. anyway,**

 **WE ARE OVER 100 REVIEWS IM SCREAMING. AHHHHHHHHH. I've planned something of a surprise to thank you all for your continued support, especially those of you that leave your thoughts every chapter. I love reading those!**

 _Ally:_ ** _I'm glad you like the the pairing so much-it's hard out here if you're not writing Sookie/Eric LOL. The slowburn is...yes slow. I'm so very sorry._**

 _Liza:_ _ **I was really looking forward for the last chapter so you specifically could read up on Catherine haha. But yeah, defo stil Crazy Catherine. Understandable now, but still cray-cray. No comments on Malachi at the mo'. And yes, Sookie will definitely be making an appearance, but that will be a little further on than you might expect.**_

 _Lucy:_ ** _Thanks-hospitals suck but everyone there was at least nice lol. Making Catherine a jealous ex was just too easy, and a little too unfair. I don't like making female characters jealous/enemies for no real reason than because of a man (even if that man is Eric Northman). So it was important to me to give her crazy some more depth. I like your Malachi/Sasha observation :) SASHA AND ERIC WILL NEVER GET TOGETHER. At least i know it feels that way lol. EVENTUALLY IT WILL HAPPEN LUCY._**

 _Guest:_ _ **I love that you love this story.**_

 _bubu-chibi-chan:_ _ **you are just so greedy! haha i'm at least glad knowing my chapters aren't TOO long for you ;). I haven't read the books, so i don't know what the fuck happens there or how the characters were originally done. I take everything i can from the and make up the rest, like Sasha and a lot of the vampire laws/mythology/culture. Malachi, Malachi, Malachi. Yes, he and Jakande have always been the same person in every draft of mine. It wasn't meant to be a HUGE reveal, so much as if you hadn't pieced it together already then there was your confirmation. I don't know how obvious or not i made it.**_

 _Guest:_ _ **I will say that the Malachi conversation was definitely...strange, whether Sasha wants to admit it or not. Is Eric on to something? Maybe, maybe not ;)**_

 _Guest: **Hope granted!**_


	21. Chapter 21

_**Chapter 20: Sparks**_

Meredith did not flinch as bottle of wine went sailing across the room, not when it shattered across the white-brick mantle of the en-suite fireplace. Glass and wine splattered across the gleaming surface, slipping off the paint finish. Still, some red-violet residue was left behind, like an unnaturally colored blood splatter, leaving Meredith to wonder when the last time she'd killed something had been.

Two? Three days? Too long.

Sensing her progeny's cocked eyebrow, Catherine spun on a heel, her silky robe opening up to nude lingerie beneath.

"What?" she snapped. Her eyes flicked to the mess. "I know,"

"It was an excellent vintage, that's all," said Meredith. "But, to get back to your earlier line of questioning…yes, they looked…cozy,"

Catherine's lips curled, clenched hands furling and unfurling at her sides. "I just don't understand—Eric is _so_ above being, being—"

"Pussy-whipped?" offered Meredith with a smirk.

Catherine shot her a look at the offending terminology, though she shrugged a shoulder. "Well, yes," she admitted with a pout. "She must be an exceptional lay, blood like candy,"

Meredith remained silent, knowing it was best to in this instance. She'd been asked to keep an eye on Eric Northman since he'd dropped in so unexpectedly to pick up his human, and so Meredith had glamored a few humans here and there, placed in them in his bar and at the boring gala he'd recently attended. So far the surveillance had yet to yield anything interesting; for Catherine, that was the problem. She'd been hoping to find just the barest hint of _something_ pointing to a scheming Eric Northman. Clandestine meetings in the middle of the night, a flurry of out-of-the-Area visitors to his club. Alas, nothing of that nature had occurred.

"There's something more," said Meredith. She hesitated as she watched her Maker pour herself a flute of blood and wine. She waited until after she'd taken a long sip to continue. "A message,"

"What sort of message? To whom?"  
"To just about every fang in Louisiana," said Meredith. "He paraded her around his club the other night with what I am told was a pair of incredible earrings that were very hard to miss,"

Catherine rolled his eyes. "So he bought her jewelry. And? Isn't that what most of the fangbangers these days want? Sex and shiny things? What was the message—that she's a gold-digging whore? We all could have guessed as much,"

This was where it got difficult. "The earrings _were_ the message, Mistress. Beneath rubies the size of my thumbs were a pair of fangs,"

Catherine froze, dumbstruck. "Fangs? Who's?"  
"I believe it would be safe to assume that they belonged to the vampire that took her," said Meredith.

"Impossible," dismissed Catherine. "Of course he'd punish a vampire for infringing upon a claim, but to go to such lengths, to torture and humiliate a vampire so…it implies…letting a human wear a piece of us—and fangs at that, what makes us _us_ …"

Catherine shook her head. "Enough of the human. She's a passing fancy—we all get bored in the centuries, and that exhibits itself in strange ways. He's a thousand years old. He's welcome to do as he pleases, anyway. Tell me, where does the sheriff of Area One stand?"

"He is open to the possibility," said Meredith. "His interest is monetary. He has many debts still to settle, given how many of his profits were tied up with Sophie-Ann's and her failed finances,"

"Excellent," said Catherine. "Vampires these days are easily bought; it's their pride that is difficult to outmaneuver,"

Catherine nodded once more to herself, as though to assure herself that she was still in control, that things were still very much going to plan for her. Then there was a flicker of doubt, a flicker of anger—Meredith _knew_ she was thinking of Eric Northman once again.

The crystal flute in her hand smashed into the wall Meredith leaned against. A shard zipped across her cheekbone, tearing flesh open cleanly.

It was hardly more than a sting, healed before Catherine could even fly across the room. All the same Catherine stood on her toes, pressing a trembling finger on her progeny's face.

"I am so sorry, Meredith," she breathed, eyes horrorstruck with regret. "I didn't mean—"

"Shh," said Meredith. She took her Maker's hand into hers, pressing a kiss to her open palm. "I have never, and will never fear you. But you do need to relax, to take some time for yourself. All this stress can't be good for you,"

"I cannot wait. There are preparations still to be made before we move—"

"It can wait another night," Meredith said gently. She sank to her knees before her Maker, nuzzling along the lace of her lingerie covering her bare mound. "Just one more night,"

Catherine's fangs scraped over her lip, opening it up. Her tongue quickly followed, catching the blood as her lip healed. Meredith smirked at the indecision in her eyes.

"All good things are to come. I promise," swore Meredith. Her fingers dragged over the lace of her Maker's panties, then dipped under. Catherine gasped, her hands grabbing a fistful of Meredith's scarlet locks.

"Pleasure tonight. But tomorrow night we make our move. I want Eric in on our work as soon as possible. He must be at the heart of this by the time everything comes to fruition, or it will all have been for naught,"

Meredith gave her a thumbs up by moving her thumb over _just_ the right spot. Then her fangs descended, and she raked them viciously down her Maker's thigh.

Catherine screamed in pain. Moaned in ecstasy.

Pain, and pleasure. For her the two would always be one and the same.

* * *

Pam's lip curled sourly, the toe of her stiletto tapping impatiently on the floor of Eric's office. While she'd been glad to be summoned, that he was once again acknowledging her presence, she wasn't so thrilled about the attention now.

"Eric, no. It's atrocious," she drawled, glaring at the stupid gold ring dangling on a matching thin gold chain. "Absolutely not,"

Eric sighed, looking exasperated with her.

"Pamela, if you promise to wear this, I promise that what happened with my witch is water under the bridge," he told her.

Pam scoffed, eyes rolling to the ceiling; oh, so she was _his witch_ , was she? His precious little fuck toy—God, the little cunt had to be casting some sort of spell over her Maker if she was leading him around by the balls and hadn't even fucked him yet. _Honestly_.

And honestly, she'd fucking missed him.

"I don't like you when you're pussy-whipped," snapped Pam, snatching the necklace from his hand. It was around her neck in a second, down the front of her shirt in the next. "Happy?"

"Thrilled," he said dryly, ignoring her jab. "Have you…"

He trailed off, an eyebrow slowly quirking.

"What?" she asked.

"I believe my witch is dreaming of me," he murmured, a pleased smirk parting his lips. "Oh, she definitely is,"

"Eric, when was the last time you screwed something?" asked Pam tartly.

"You are particularly mouthy tonight," he observed.

"I'm particularly ticked off. Eric, this stupid necklace is _ugly_. Why the hell do I even have to wear it?" she asked.

"Because I said so," he said simply. "Now, did you review what Ginger got together for the private event next week…"

Pam sighed impatiently as her Maker trailed off once more, no doubt once again wrapped up in the stupid witch's feelings.

"Eric, I swear for fuck's sake—"

She broke off as he sat up suddenly, frowning as he braced a hand atop his desk. He was staring at nothing in particular, and she knew he must have been focused on the bond he had with the girl. "She's upset…Angry. Furious—"

"Who fucking cares?"

" _Shit_ ," hissed Eric. He was up and out of his seat in the next exit.

"Not so fucking fast," bit out Pam. She ran after him.

Eric had the advantage of flying, and so arrived to the scene just moments after him.

"Holy, _hell_ ," she gasped.

A raging fire was consuming a tiny standalone house, reaching heavenward and keep the night at bay. Cherry red bits of ash floated above them, heavy smoke surging up like a swaying hurricane.

Pam took a step back, instinct telling her to flee the flames, but even as she stepped back, her Maker started towards the house.

"Eric don't!" she exclaimed, surging forward and grabbing his arm. " _Eric_!"

"She's in there," he ground out. His eyes were wild. "I can feel her—she's _in_ there. Pam I can't just—I promised I'd protect her!"

"Running into a goddam fire won't protect her, Eric," said Pam, her voice shaking at the very thought.

His blue eyes were so stricken, sapphires reflecting the dancing orange of fire and fury.

" _Pam_ ,"

He said her name so helplessly, so incredibly torn, Pam had the fucked up urge to run into the house herself and drag that stupid little witch-bitch by her _hair_ just to never have to hear her name said that way again.

Pam flipped her phone out, calling 911 immediately. One hand remained locked on Eric's wrist, not trusting his hero-bullshit instinct to not surge at this particular moment. His bond to the girl was making him irrational, she knew.

It didn't help when they heard the girl scream.

"The fire department is already on their way. They've already been called," shouted Pam, grabbing onto him when he started forward again.

"Fuck," hissed Eric. "Sasha _what have you done now?_ "

She could hear the sound of sirens in the distance, her head snapping to the sid, trying to judge the distance.

"See, look here they come, Eric— _Eric!_ "

Eric had wrenched himself of her grip all too easily, and he zipped to the front of the house—Sasha bursting out of the front door, tripping down the steps in her haste and right into Eric's arms.

Eric bundled her up in his arms, speeding far enough from the burning house that neither of them could feel the heat of the flames. He all but collapsed to the ground, checking the girl over as she sobbed in his arms, her whole body shaking as she cried.

"She isn't hurt," said Pam, amazement filling her voice as her eyes scanned over Sasha. It was the truth; though the white t-shirt she wore was now filthy with ash and even singed through in some places, she was burn-free.

"Sasha, Sasha _calm down_ ," murmured Eric. "You're fine, you're fine—are you hurt? I can't tell—you're fear and anger is overwhelming our bond," he told her quickly.

But the girl continued to quake; Pam watched as Eric tried to put the force of a glamor behind his words, to get her to stop quivering and relax her heart rate, but nothing worked. She continued to sob, fingers twisting into the material of his shirt as she clung to Eric like he was her lifeline.

"I didn't—I didn't _mean_ 'o—" she managed to get through thick hiccups. "I—I w-was angry but I didn't—"

Eric froze, looking down at her with a mixture of understanding and horror, then back at the house.

"You mean—don't speak of it now. Not here," said Eric. With his nose pressed into her hair, the scent of smoke and fire was strong in his nose—but so was the overpowering crackle of her anger and the wave of fear.

By the time the fire department, police, and paramedics arrived, one of the bungalow walls had completely given way. At Eric's order, Pamela had manually moved the girl's car out of the driveway and away from the flames

Eric sent away each paramedic that came near, glamoring the braver ones that did not stop before his glare. Finally, realizing that there was something of a situation on their hands, he left Sasha to go speak to the police officers and fire department. He glamored them into believing that an unattended candle was to blame for the mess.

* * *

"Don't touch me." Sasha said lowly when Pam drew nearer. Pam stopped, lifting a blonde brow in her direction.

"I wasn't about to come hug you, _sweetheart,_ " she said scathingly. "Here. I don't know what you humans do with them,"

She handed Sasha a foil blanket she'd stolen off one of the medic trucks, shaking it with a few snaps of her wrist so that it unfolded.

"I'm fine," snapped Sasha. She squeezed her eyes shut, rocking in place, muttering to herself, fingers digging into the dirt at her sides.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" asked Pam.

"I'm trying very hard not to do to you what I did to the house," bit out Sasha, her eyes still squeezed tightly. She sounded pained. "Oh _no_ —"

Pam turned to the shouts and exclamations as the firemen all backtracked from the house. The fire had flared, columns of it twisting unnaturally. Even Pam took a step away, uncomfortable once more by the proximity.

"Wait— _you_ did this?" she asked worriedly.

Eric returned then, setting an arm once again around Sasha, drawing her into his chest. She went willingly, burying her face into his chest, like the coolness of him might ease the flames burning behind them. "Now is not a good time to go needling the little firestarter, Pam," he murmured, voice falsely light.

Pam scowled, her own eyes sparking.

"You knew she—"

"Not now, Pam," he said curtly, eyes darting down to Sasha. A hand moved to rub soothing circles into the witch's back, while his other moved over her sweaty forehead in an effort to cool her down. Pam's lips snapped shut in understanding.

She moved some ways away, watching through narrowed eyes as her Maker attempted to coax the little witch into looking at him, in meeting his gaze. Pam didn't understand how he could be so firm with the girl without fear that he'd end up ashes, not when the girl didn't even trust herself. The longer Pam looked on, the deeper the pit in her stomach stretched open.

* * *

"Sasha, you _really_ need to calm down," said Eric. "Your emotions are feeding the flames,"  
"I know, I _can't_ —I don't know _how—_ " she stammered. "I—"

She squeezed her eyes shut again, wincing as a new wave of emotion and power came bursting out. It was like now that the damn had broken a river of eternal fire was spilling forth, and it was in no rush to end.

"Eric, Eric—the ambulance," she told him. "Drug me,"

Eric's brow furrowed as he quickly realized what she was asking him to do. "I don't think—"

" _Eric_ ," she pleaded with him, finally looking up at him. He was torn, but the tormented look on her face had been pulling away from her once again. He didn't agree with what she was asking, but he also understood her desperation, and he did not think that now was the time to test her control, to needle her into reigning in her magic. That ship, he was afraid, had long since sailed.

Or, you know, burned to the ground in smithereens.

Eric knew what he was looking for, and so it was easy to slip into the ambulance unseen and steal a little bag of morphine, along with a needle. He was quickly at Sasha's side once again, easing her into the passenger seat of the Camaro. Eric kneeled in front of her, her knees pressed against his chest as he took her hand into his. He licked a patch of her elbow, stimulating the blood flow there—for a moment it was mind-numbing, tasting her skin and the thick scent of on his tongue, _her veins were just right there and his fangs were slowly edging out…_

Eric snapped into focus, pulling away from the crook of her elbow and grabbing needle and IV. He was quick to put it into her arm, quick to divert his attention from the blood that welled up…

"Thank you," Sasha whispered. Eric looked up at her, reaching up to cup her cheek with his hand, plastering her frizzy curls to the side of his face as he did so. Her eyes were getting heavier, drooping; the morphine was working through her quickly, fortunately.

He waited until they'd fallen shut completely; Sasha had given into the drug, into her exhaustion. He glanced over her shoulder through the Camaro's window; sure enough, the flames were dying down, no more the unnaturally hungry fire that had threatened to spill over into the surrounding lots. The atmosphere changed; the night no longer seemed sinister, and it was almost as though the danger had lifted; what was left of the fire the firefighters now attacked with renewed confidence, now that it was a routine fire that they had seen hundreds of times.

"You have a whole lotta explaining to do," bit out Pam, furious with him. "Jesus fucking Christ, Eric, a firestarter? You realize that fire eats _everything_ , destroys and _we_ just happen to be extra susceptible to it? That it's one of the only things humans can survive when we can't?"

Eric rose to his feet, glaring down at his progeny. She was, of course, absolutely correct. Sasha had neglected to mention that she had the ability to manipulate fire; Eric knew it was a witch power—it was one of the reasons so many of his kind despised witches—but he'd been under the belief that that particular ability was a rare one. And what were the odds? A girl growing up under the roof of vampires, a firestarter. Had Malachi known he was living with a possible ticking time bomb?

…or had h believed he was housing a possible weapon?

His eyes flickered over to Sasha once again, unease filling him. She'd made it very clear to him that she wouldn't hear a single word against her vampire, the King, but Eric had his suspicions. If he was right… well, he wasn't sure he wanted to be the one to tell her.

"I was unaware," Eric admitted to Pam. She cocked her eyebrow at him, scoffing.

"You were unaware," she repeated. "Fucking wonderful. Well, who knows. Maybe it'll be you next time, or maybe me. Maybe she'll come 'round Fangtasia PMSing, decides she finds the wallpaper particularly offensive, and then—"

"Would you calm down?" Eric asked in exasperation. "I'll work on it, all right?"

Pam pursed her lips, grabbing onto his forearm when he turned back to his unconscious witch.

"Eric," she said, blue eyes bright. "I just—tell me you're being careful. Tell me you have a plan, that you've got this all figured out. Because this girl is dangerous; before I thought that danger was two thousand miles away. But it turns out it's much more immediate, possibly worse than that. _Tell me you have it figured out_ ,"

Eric stared at Pam for a long moment, taking in her expression. She was deadly serious—serious and worried, mostly about him, he could see. His recklessness worried her, and she was now looking for assurances that he was being anything but that—reckless. She wanted to know that he had a plan, that he had his shit together.

"I do," said Eric.

Pam looked relieved, and the tension from her shoulders sagged. But Eric, having never lied to his progeny before, not like _this_ , tasted the cold, thick bitter taste of guilt in his mouth. It tasted like dead blood, so vile he was tempted to take the words back. But he'd said them, his 'I do' as meaningful in its deceit, just as binding as any alter-side declaration.

What the fuck was he doing?

"So what are we doing with her?" asked Pam, nodding to Sasha. She was leaning against the seat, cheek smashed up against the leather of the seat, knees limply knocked together as her feet rested against the dirt. Had the situation not been so dire, the sight would have made him smile.

"I'll take her to my place," said Eric. "And hope she doesn't get pissed off again,"

"Fine," said Pam with a shrug. "I'll drive,"

Grateful as he was at her change of attitude, at least for the time being, it also made his guilt worsen. He had no time for it now, so he pushed it out of his head and told himself that he would be making it up to her very, very soon, just as soon as he figured things out with the witch.

After having spoken (glamored) with the police and fire department, they were free to leave the scene. The house was unrecoverable, and whatever Sasha had possessed had likely met a similar fate. Those things were all easily replaceable he thought, and she was still in one piece, so he thought that things had gone rather well in the end. He sat in the back of the Camaro with her as Pam took pleasure in breaking every speed limit and testing out the Camaro's break on every curve they came upon, until Eric reminded him that the human girl in his arms wasn't dead, but merely unconscious.

It was as they parked in the underground parking structure of his building that shit really hit the fan. No sooner had he stepped out of the Camaro than he was aware that they were not alone; _vampires_. He stiffed immediately, alert for any and all threats.

"Pam," he hissed quietly. But she'd heard and sensed them too, and her fangs were out, body tense and poised for a fight, just like his.

A group of vampires he was unfamiliar with moved toward him. They were dressed in black tactical gear, armed with guns and silver bullets. Their leader, a Chinese male with long black hair tied back in a low ponytail came to a stop a respectable distance away.

"Eric Northman," he greeted. His eyes strayed to Pam for a moment, then to Sasha's unconscious form.

"Who the fuck are you?" asked Pam.

"I'm here on orders from King Compton. Eric Northman, Sheriff of Area Five, you're under arrest at the command of our King. My men and I have been instructed to bring you in under any means necessary…given you age and status, I'm hoping you'll cooperate and come with us nicely,"

Eric snorted, shaking his head as he laughed. There was nothing funny of course—cold fury ran through him, and for a moment he remembered what it was to feel hot; suddenly he could understand just how Sasha might be able to set a house on fire with the mere emotion.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me. On what charge?" asked Pam.

"As it were," said the vampire. "I was not informed. I simply follow my monarch's orders, ma'am,"

" _Ma'am_?" snarled Pam, further insulted. "Eric—"

"I'll come," said Eric, cutting off her words. His mind was racing—there was no way he could kill all of the armed vampires without a few of them firing their guns; he wouldn't take the chance with Pam in the room. They were backed against a wall; easy targets.

"Eric you can't!" argued Pam immediately.

In Swedish, he instructed, _"Take her upstairs. Be good and stay safe, don't give them any reason to take you. That I Command you as your Maker_."

He shot her a warning look when she wanted to argue, not that she could do much against his Command. Then he held his hands up in surrender, allowing the vampire to come forward and handcuff in in silver. He winced at the sting of silver around his wrists, and then Eric let the vampires lead him out, away from Pam and Sasha.

* * *

For the second time in two weeks, Sasha woke up in Eric Northman's bed. She knew it before opening her eyes, recognizing the soft silkiness of his black sheets and the scent of him in the bed. She couldn't have been out for very long, she decided. When she sat up in the bed, a rush of nausea swept over her hard and fast, he after affects of the morphine. She barely made it into the bathroom in time.

"Disgusting,"

Pam appeared in Eric's doorway, and Sasha realized she'd slept a little longer than she'd thought; Pam was bleeding steadily from her ears and nose, even the corners of her eyes. The bleeds.

"Where's Eric?" Sasha asked stiffly. She didn't want to be alone with Pam in the room.

"He's not here," hissed Pam. "He's been arrested,"

"He's been _what_?" exclaimed Sasha.

"You fucking heard me," said Pam, and for once her derision didn't seem aimed at Sasha. "And fuck knows over what. Compton's pinned something on him, I'll bet. Eric's been involved in nothing illegal, nothing bad—Compton's wanted nothing but to see Eric silvered and staked every since—" Pam broke off, shaking her head. "Look, all you need to know is that Compton will use any legal excuse to get rid of my Maker,"

Sasha frowned at this, turning it over in her mind's eye until it made sense. Pieces of a much larger puzzled moved and shuffled around at her command, coming together until they fit just right.

"This has something to do with Sookie Stackhouse, doesn't it?" Sasha asked quizzically.

"Now why the hell would you say that?" Pam asked, interest sparking at her line of inquiry. Sasha shrugged.

"I've heard things here and there. Sookie ran with vampires—she was with Bill. But she seemed to be…friendly…with Eric. But Eric doesn't have many friends. Especially not human ones,"

A slow smirk tugged at Pam's lips. She moved to leer over Sasha, taking great joy in asking, "Jealous, Chocolate Cake?"

"I know this must come as an incredible shock to you," said Sasha. "But I don't _want_ your Maker,"

Pam's smirk only widened, aided by arched eyebrow. She didn't believe Sasha for a single moment.

Sasha turned away from Pam, going to rinse out her mouth in the sink. Pam folded her arms across her chest, cocking a hip.

"I'm leaving before the night is out," said Pam. "You are not to leave this apartment, are we clear?"

"But what about Eric?" asked Sasha.

"I'm going to him now," said Pam. Her mouth turned down at the corners, anger entering her features frighteningly fast. "I have the right to see him, as his progeny. Call if your one phone call,"

"I'm aware of the rights," said Sasha quickly. "Go to him. I won't leave the apartment,"

Pam gazed at her suspiciously, like she wasn't so sure she could believe her for having agreed to quickly. She voiced her accusation out loud.

"I'm not going to waste our time if Eric's in danger, Pam. I don't want anything to happen to him, either. Go find out what you can—there has to be something we can do,"

"Even if there is," said Pam. "He wouldn't want you to get involved, wouldn't want his little asset exposed,"

"Even if his life was on the line?" asked Sasha incredulously. "Ever heard about begging for forgiveness over asking for permission?"

Pam looked her over up and down. "Hm. Guess you do have your moments after all,"

The she was gone, leaving Sasha alone in Eric's apartment to fret until she returned with news. She found a clock; it would be sun up soon. She couldn't be gone long. And whatever Bill decided to do, he couldn't do it in a handful of hours. Eric was a Sheriff and an ancient by most standards. He'd have to go about whatever he planned carefully. She took hope in that.

* * *

Eric sighed as he let his head fall back against the wall of his cell. The silver handcuffs had come off fortunately, but there was nowhere to go. The bars of his cell were solid silver; there was no going anywhere. What annoyed him the most was the fact that since he'd been thrown into the cell—escorted in, really, the vampire that had initially arrested him, Nathan Chang, had been rather respectful during the whole thing—was that he'd seen Bill Compton all of two minutes. He'd greeted him at the door, charged him with a spiel about his _crimes against the Crown_ and then sent him on his merry way into the dungeon.

The literal dungeon. Eric's might have had a more legitimate dungeon aesthetic, but at least fun stuff happened there rather often. He was pretty sure that Bill's basement-turned-dungeon never doubled as a sex dungeon.

His stomach fluttered, then clenched. The bond he had with Pam was trembling; she was worried about him. He didn't blame her. Though he'd yet to give into despair at his situation—even Bill Compton couldn't possibly think to off him because of a girl that wasn't even around anymore—she was trying to hide her emotions from him, but it was impossible. She was too worried, and he realized that this had been her worst fear for months. She loved him so much, and her concern made him a little more weary of the situation.

Then there was Sasha. The little witch radiated worry too, and he amused himself with her emotions for a moment. It was an odd thing, the realization that there was a being outside of his vampire bloodline that cared for him. It was a strong feeling, the one coming from her end, and he couldn't say he found it too surprising when he factored in her character. He wasn't an idiot; she had more than a soft spot for him, despite how often they argued and danced around each other on the edge of truth and lie, and whether she had unconsciously decided it or not, Eric was willing to bet she counted him amongst her little ring of vampires, that she thought of him as a friend. Sasha, he didn't think, was the type of human to hand that title out so easily.

A sinking feeling hit him. No, his little witch was worried about him, and she certainly wouldn't sit out. She would do something, anything she could do get him out of his trouble. He could only hope it wasn't anything too drastic.

"Northman," Nathan Chang appeared at the front of his cell, watching him through dark eyes for a moment. "Your progeny is here to see you,"

Eric was unsurprised when Pam stepped into view. Her expression said a lot of things—she was furious that Bill had even dared to lock him up, to go against him; she was fearful for the fallout; and Eric knew, Pam was also exasperated with him, because she'd told him from the fucking start to expect something.

" _What's going on?_ " Pam asked the second Chang was out of sight. There were certainly cameras in the room, but as far as either of them knew they were the only local vampires that spoke his old dialect of Swedish. " _What can he possibly have on you?_ "

"Treason," said Eric. " _He has been keeping watch on us since he heard circulating rumors at his coronation. There are vampires in the state that are not only questioning his rule, but campaigning on my behalf to take his throne,"_

" _What?!_ " exclaimed Pam. " _But you've never made a play for the throne—Compton knows that!_ "

" _Yes_ , _"_ agreed Eric. " _But it would give him an excuse to see me meet the True Death, Pamela. He blames me for Sookie's disappearance, thinks_ I'm _the root of all his failings with the little halfling. As though his own actions never played a part,_ "

" _Forget fucking Sookie_ ," said Pam. " _What now? What does he think he has on you?"_

" _One of the chief leaders of this movement to see me to the throne is rumored to be a vampire of a high position, here in Louisiana. I don't know if he means by position or age. But as I recently was seen meeting with Catherine in her Area…_ "

" _Bill thinks you're plotting with his Sheriffs for some takeover_ , _"_ realized Pam. " _And even if he doesn't believe it, he can make it look like he had enough reason to,_ "

"You see the issue," said Eric.

" _This is all that fucking witch cunt's fault_ ," fumed Pamela. " _If she hadn't—I'm going to fucking drain her for this,_ "

Eric's arm shot out from between the silver bars, eyes steady even as his bicep burned against the silver. "You will do no such thing," he warned his progeny. He released Pam when he was certain she'd understood him good and well. " _You will return to her—after making sure you are not followed—and politely ask her if she knows anything about this,_ "

"You think she might be in on it?" Pam asked in surprise. "Bait, this whole time?"

Eric scoffed impatiently. " _Of course not. But the girl is smart—she picked up on this once before, at Fangtasia. She asked me why I wasn't king. It's possible that she might have heard something while Catherine had her, rumors from Area Four. Catherine has been trying to speak to me for some time,_ "

" _You don't think…?"_

" _Even she would not be so stupid,_ " dismissed Eric. Still, he looked troubled. " _Go. And keep an eye on my witch. I don't want Bill to get his hands on her,_ "

" _You think he'd care to have her?_ "

" _He was once Procurer for Sophie-Anne,_ " reminded Eric. " _You don't become such a thing without taking an interest in the unusual yourself_ ,"

"Eric…" Pam hated that her voice broke, that the blood tears welled in her eyes so obviously. "I don't like this,"

Eric offered her an affectionate smile. "Don't cry for me, Pamela," said Eric. "I'll get out of this mess yet. Always do, don't I?"

She tried to smile at him. She was unsuccessful. For the second time, Eric's arms reached through the bars. She protested when his flesh sizzled against it, but Eric ignored the burns, pulling her face close so that he could peck her on the lips, though he was careful not to let the silver burn her.

When he pulled away, she was able to muster up a smile. It didn't feel like a goodbye kiss.

* * *

"Compton can't do this!" Sasha exploded the second Pam had filled her in. The fluffy white robe she wore—obviously Eric by the exaggerated size of it on her; it trailed behind her like a train. Her curls were still wet from her shower, and though she seemed less than thrilled to be speaking to her, Pam noticed she seemed more than capable of shoving down their rivalry in favor of Eric's situation.

And, Pam noticed, Sasha appeared to have no problem settling into her Maker's apartment as she rooted around his dressers for something to wear, not looking the least bit abashed at going through a thousand year old being's things. That really, _really_ irked Pam, how the little witch seemed just fine and dandy with practically moving it.

But, now was not the time. Pam could respect that. For now.

"Eric would never—"

Sasha gasped as she found herself trapped against the dresser, the edge of it digging into her back and shoulder.

"Don't you fucking dare try to tell me what my Maker would or would not do," hissed Pam. "You don't fucking know him. He's in this mess because of _you_ let's not fucking forget,"

Sasha's eyes narrowed, and she shrugged pam's hand off her shoulder. "You're right. But, lets not forget," mocked Sasha. "That _you're_ the one that put that newborn on me,"

Pam's eyes tightened.

"He already had your scent," dismissed Pam.

"But you didn't deter him, did you?" spat Sasha. "No, you knew you'd be safe from Jakande's wrath because your hands wouldn't get dirty. But I know the truth, _Eric_ knows the truth. Now get off of me before we both find out just how quickly that blonde wig of yours sizzles up, Miss Hairspray,"  
Pam glared at her for a moment longer. Than she stepped away. Sasha tried not to appear to relieved; Pam might not have known it, but Sasha wasn't exactly sure that she could follow through on her threat. Or worse, if she could stop at just the vampire's hair with a localized fire.

"So let's go," said Sasha.

"Go? Go fucking where?"

"To get Eric out of this. You weren't just planning on letting him rot in that cell, were you?"

"Of course not," said Pam, abashed. "But I'm just one vampire, and relatively young at that. You're barely a witch from what I hear—you want to what? Walk in and threaten to burn the place down? They'd snap your neck in an instant, not to mention you'd never expose yourself for Eric's sake,"

"Obviously," said Sasha. "It doesn't always have to come to a fight, Pam. Ever heard of diplomacy?"

"It's never been my speed,"

"Then you'll just have to watch and learn," said Sasha. "So this Sookie Stackhouse—what did she used to wear? What was she like?"

"What the hell does that matter?" asked Pam.

"You're giving me a makeover, and then _I'll_ be the one to talk to Bill Compton,"

* * *

Sasha had expressed an interest in politics at thirteen. Specifically, vampire politics. Malachi had noted this interest, and a tutor had promptly been hired to anticipate Government and Economics into her curriculum. Then, for a minimum of two hours every week, he had personally tutored her in vampire politics. The lessons had ranged in difficulty, and many involved very real situations that Malachi allowed her to be privy to when most would not.

And, in some cases, she received first hand experience.

When she'd been fourteen, she'd gotten ready for her lesson with Malachi. Only that day it had been different; she had received a set of instructions and clothes to wear. The written instructions explained how she should have her hair (in two pigtails) and her face bare (only a swipe of clear mascara) to wear no perfume or scented lotion, and to wear the clothes provided. She'd found a white dress that she'd immediately hated, something she guessed a girl of her age might wear to church, and a pair of open toed sandals. Sasha remembered frowning at the sandals; etiquette called that you didn't show your toes for formal meetings and business appearances. But, of course, she'd done it anyway.

After she'd arrived at Malachi's study, he'd sat her down and explained to her that he had a meeting with an ambassador from Italy. There were a few business dealings at stake with the Italians, dealings Malachi very much wanted to salvage in their favor. She'd listened to all of this, not understanding what it had to do with her. And then Malachi had explained.

Vampires, he had carefully explained had weaknesses greater than the sun and silver to be exploited. They fell prey to their desires just as easily as humans—if not more so, believing themselves to be so above the boundaries humans created something.

 _"If you can distract a vampire with the object of his desire,_ " Malachi had said. _"Then he becomes malleable to yours._ "

They'd tested that theory minutes after. The ambassador from Italy was a short vampire, turned when he was still a boy, no older than sixteen or seventeen by her estimation. The object of desire, in that situation, had been Sasha. Marco Vizzi was a blue eyes, black haired youth with a dazzling smile and, as it turned out, a fetish for young, puritan virgins. Malachi had explained her presence with a bored, short explanation: she was a prospective vampire, and once turned she would serve as his aid. Until then, she was being groomed for the job. He hadn't so much as referenced or looked at her throughout the meeting—half of it was in Italian anyway, and Sasha hadn't spoken the language anyway, though her French was of a little help—and acted like he was ignoring her the whole time, calling for Marco Vizzi to do the same.

Marco Vizzi had been unable to. His eyes, whether he wanted them to or not, kept returning to her, to pink lips and her delicate hands, to the curves of her calves. At fourteen years old, in that room, Sasha came to understand the power of her sexuality, and the power of desire and distraction Malachi had spoken of. With the very curious innocence the vampire fetishized, Sasha exercised her newfound power carefully. When Marco seemed absolutely resolved in not agreeing to Malachi's terms or a stalemate occurred, Sasha would casually flick her hair over a shoulder, exposing her collarbones and stirring the scent of her hair across the room, would cross one leg over the other, exposing just a hint of smooth skin above her knee, between her thighs… like a broken circuit, Vizzi would lose his energy, the passion of his counterargument dying out as he became distracted and disoriented.

Now, a decade later, Sasha recalled that experience as she twirled around in another white sundress. It wasn't as atrocious as the one Malachi had made her wear then—there were no frills or lace overlays, mercifully—just a splotchy red pattern. Sasha thought it looked like blood; Pam had smirked, and said that it there was something poetic to it, and that finding a dress with red roses on it would not only be impossible on such short notice, but also overkill. She hadn't quite understood what that meant, but it hadn't mattered.

Her hair was pulled back from her face in a bouncy ponytail, and she wore minimal makeup, just a layer of mascara and some carefully placed foundation to sculpt out her cheeks more.

"Stop making that face," said Pam, eyeing her reflection. Sasha was glaring at the dress again, trying to get it to lie down better around the empire waist. "She always had this sort of smile on her face, like she'd been dropped on her head one too many times and was left retarded,"

" _Pam,_ " admonished Sasha, throwing her a dirty look.

"What? It's true,"

"That word's awful," said Sasha. "It's derogatory,"

"Do I look like I give two fucks about derogatory?"

Mustering up the coldest, hardest glare she could, she pinned Pam's reflection to the mirror with it. " _I_ do. So you won't use it around me again,"

Pam lifted an eyebrow, then shrugged. Her hands moved up to cup Sasha's breasts form behind, fixing them in her dress. Sasha frowned at her.

"I'm starting to see why he likes you so much," purred Pam in her ear. "But before you get too comfortable with that bossy tone of yours, know that even if you start fucking my Maker I'm not calling you Step-Mommy,"

Sasha scowled, slapping Pam's hands away when they lingered for too long.

"Can we get back to the topic at hand?" she asked, turning to face Pam once again.

Pam stepped back, running a critical eye over her. "The look is remarkably accurate, considering you two look nothing alike. Now smile,"

Sasha smiled.

"No, not like that. It's gotta be re—" Pam rolled here eyes at Sasha's stern look. " _Dreamy._ She looks like she's always fucking dreaming away in la-la-land. And insipid. She's sugary sweet and innocent, and although she's surprisingly…resilient, she's not as bitingly sharp as you are, not as sarcastic. She's very self-righteous—holy fuck _there_ it is,"

Pam sounded impressed, and Sasha tried to commit to memory the feel of the foreign smile on her face, knowing she'd have to replicate it later in the evening.

"This is fucking crazy," mused Pam. "You better not fuck this up, or it's my neck too,"

"Yes, that would totally suck," said Sasha.

"Ugh. I'll drive. You can call Ginger Snatch from the car,"

It took a bit of cajoling to convince Jessica to get Bill to talk to her _now_. But it was their best bet, and even though Jessica wanted nothing to do with Bill's kingly affairs or whatever deception Sasha clearly had going on, she was finally swayed by Sasha's pleas and Pam's glowering and the promise that Bill wouldn't be harmed in any way.

Pam Sasha off at the Compton property line, looking more than unhappy that she couldn't just kill her way into freeing her Maker. She stopped Sasha from getting out so that she could apply a quick swipe of pale lip-gloss to her cheeks.

"Just fucking get him out of there. Please."

Sasha wanted to retort that she'd do her best, that she could only do so much…but then she saw the look on the blonde's face. It wasn't the look of the vampire that had wanted her dead; it was the face of a progeny fearing for her Maker's life. Her very world.

"I'll get him out," Sasha said quietly.

She prayed to any deity listening she hadn't just told a terrible lie.

* * *

"Thanks, Jess," gushed Sasha, hugging the redheaded vampire the second she met her on the drive.

"Don't thank me yet," mumbled Jessica. "Again—you're just talking to him, right?" Jessica verified, though she was looking Sasha over suspiciously. "You kinda look like—you know what, I don't wanna know,"

Jessica led her passed the armed guards and into the mansion. It was only the second time Sasha had visited the place; when she met up with Jessica, it was always at Merlotte's or at the bungalow or at the apartment the young vampire shared with her boyfriend Hoyt. Though still grand, now that the Compton place was free of the glitz and excitement of a coronation, it felt remarkably empty and borderline eerie, like it was haunted by ghosts Sasha could not see. She didn't like it.

Jessica knocked on her Maker's study, then let herself in. Sasha hovered uncertainly in the doorway, driving the part she had to play from her head into her very soul. She had to get this exactly right.

"Um, Bill?" Jessica asked tentatively.

"What is it, Jessica? As you know, I am quite busy,"

"Yeah I know," said Jessica. She bit her lip, tossing a look over her shoulder at where Sasha hid. "I know you're real busy bein' king and all, but I promised my friend she could talk to you for a few minutes. Can you please?"

Sasha heard Bill sigh; he sounded tired, even a little impatient.

"What friend is this?"

"Sasha. I told you about her, remember? You let me invite her to the coronation?" said Jessica.

"I was supposed to meet her that night," said Bill, obviously remembering her. "But I believe you said she left the party early?"

 _Cause I was attacked by a vampire just feet away from your property_ , thought Sasha. _And then I murdered him and Eric gave me a bath in your girlfriend's tub. You and I are closer than you think, Bill._

"Yeah, Pam told me she got sick from too much champagne," said Jessica. "Um, she's here now, if you could spare like five minutes…"

Bill sighed once more. Sasha heard the clicking of a pen, then, "Alright. Just a few minutes. I have pressing matters to deal with before dawn,"

"Thank you!" Jessica said brightly. "Hey Sasha, you can come in!"

She felt Jessica breeze past her, and the only reason Sasha didn't take in a deep breath was because she knew Bill would hear her. Her heart was already beating a little fast; she hoped at least that would speak to him more than a calm one.

The second she stepped into the room, Bill Compton's eyes widened in shock. Then it dampened to surprise, and from there it faded into being genuinely thrown.

"Miss Sasha Buckley, I presume," said Bill, quickly rising to his feet. He came around to shake her hand. As he did she gave him The Smile; his hand faltered as it reached for hers, and she didn't miss the way his nose twitched minutely. He was smelling her and, whatever he smelled or tasted in the air, made that look of shock return.

"Thank you for seeing me, your Majesty," said Sasha, making a show of clumsily curtseying. And, if the slightest inflection of an accent coated her words, well, that was just too convenient, wasn't it? "I can't tell you how much I appreciate it,"

"This is highly unusual, Miss Buckley," the vampire said reluctantly. "Still, I will honor Jessica's request. How can I help you tonight?"

"I…well I'm not really too sure how to—" Sasha broke off, laughing self-consciously, a little breathlessly. "I know you're the King around here, and I hope you don't take this the wrong way but…well, I don't think you're like other vampires,"

"How so?"

"Well, Jess says you're really nice. But you're also…understanding, in a way most vampires I think have forgotten to be. You can still reason like us, being how you are now," sad Sasha. She smiled in embarrassment. "I'm not makin' much sense, am I?"

Bill's frozen expression cracked a little; he smiled encouragingly at her. "I think I know what you might mean. Please, go on,"

"So bein' that you're who you are, but that you can think like you do, I though maybe you might here me out,"

Nodding, Bill leaned back in his seat, gesturing for her to continue.

"Speak your mind, Miss Buckley,"

"I just don't want anything happening to Eric, especially not when it's all my fault he's been arrested in the first place," said Sasha. "He was only—"

"You're here on behalf of Eric Northman?" interrupted Bill.

Sasha nodded frantically. "I just wanted to explain my side of the story, before you punished him because of me,"

A muscle jumped in Bill's jaw; he was torn between being upset and intrigued. He stared at her for a long moment, and then he leaned over his desk, pressing a button on an intercom machine.

"Mr. Chen? Yes, please escort Mr. Northman to my office,"

"Oh gosh," sighed Sasha. "He's going to be so annoyed I'm here,"

"You mean Eric didn't put you up to this?"

Sasha frowned like she couldn't possibly understand his question. "How could he? I was asleep when he got arrested—Pam just told me what happened after coming to see him,"

Bill didn't look convinced. He stood before her before she could blink, leaning into her space to gaze directly into her eyes.

"Miss Buckley," he said very carefully, his eyes unblinking as he attempted to glamor her. "Why are you truly here?"

"Because I care about Eric," said Sasha slowly, like she was unaware she was speaking the words. "I don't want him hurt becausa me,"

Bill pulled away, returning to his high-back chair. Not long after Eric was led in, and the second his eyes landed on Sasha, his eyes went wide from shock to confusion to fury.

"I see that you and my progeny somehow misunderstand what _stay out of it_ means," he said too coolly to not be upset as he came to a stop next to her. His hands were bound at the wrists in silver handcuffs, and she frowned worriedly at them. She knew that he'd heal, but she also knew that it had to hurt like a motherfucker, not matter the bravado Eric was putting up. Slowly, they were sapping his strength.

"Take a seat, Eric," said Bill, dismissing the vampire Sasha assumed was Mr. Chen with a brief nod. Eric took a seat, lounging like he wasn't silvered and arrested without due cause.

Bill looked between them; finally his eyes settled on Eric.

"She requested an audience through Jessica to see me," explained Bill. "Miss Buckley says that you've been arrested—wrongly, if I'm to assume that is what she is inferring—and because of her actions. Is this true?"

Eric glanced at her, blue eyes calculating.

"I'm sure she believes that to be true," said Eric.

"It is true," said Sasha. "Mr. Compton—King Compton. I…I've friends with lots of vampires. And…and I realize now that it's made me very foolish. They're...you're…vampires. Y'all have different rules, different behaviors.

"I fail to see what this has to do with Eric,"

"I'm sorry, I'm rambling," said Sasha, flashing him another smile. She could see each time she used it, it was chipping away a little at Bill. Out of her peripheral, she saw Eric grow still the second it flashed across her face. "A few nights ago, I was kidnapped from Fangtasia. I was the Halloween party there," she explained. "But when I left for the night, I never made it home. Some crazy baby vampire kidnapped me right out of the parkin' lot! And, if it weren't for Eric, I'd be dead right now. He saved my life when most vampires probably wouldn't have,"

 _Here goes._

"Is that so?" asked Bill. Again his gaze had slipped to Eric.

Sasha nodded, feeling her ponytail bounce from side to side. "Oh yeah. I'll admit, I probably shouldn't have lied to the other Sheriff—"

"Other Sheriff?" repeated Bill, pouncing on her 'slip'. Eric's brows scrunched up; she could practically feel his confusion in waves…or through their bond? Was that possible? If she didn't know any better, he was wondering why she'd chosen to divulge that information, when Bill was looking for every sign to pin corroborating with other Sheriffs to his list of crimes.

"Yes," said Sasha, nodding along innocently. "I don't really remember her name. The vampire that kidnapped me out of Eric's Area brought me into Area…well I'm not too sure where I was, either. I just know that she wanted me dead because…"

"…because?" prompted Bill. He was looking at her almost hungrily, like she was the key witness to the very crime he was waiting to hear Eric had committed.

She took a deep breath this time. _Fuck it_. "Because I staked a vampire. And I know that's really bad—I feel _awful_ over it—but he tried to bite me and kill _me_ , and I was just trying to defend myself. Anyway, she wanted to kill me, but I told her I belonged to Eric. I mean, I guess that wasn't a complete lie, not really. It was like a half-truth; I was his anyway, just not um, I guess formally? We never exchanged blood before then,"  
"But now you have?"

Sasha smiled again, nodding. "I was hurt really badly; Eric saved my life,"

"How generous of him," Bill said dryly.

"But that Sheriff, she didn't believe me. So I told her she could call Eric to verify; she did, I think just to prove me wrong and have a laugh, but I think she was really surprised when Eric told her I _was_ his. Then he came and got me and took me home," said Sasha. "Like I said, I would have been dead if it weren't for him,"

"You spend a lot of time with Mr. Northman?" asked Bill.

"I guess," Sasha said thoughtfully. "I mean, not as much as I would if he were my human boyfriend—not that he's my boyfriend, I just—" she stammered, trying to come off as bashful as she shot Eric a furtive glance. Then looked away at his raised eyebrows. "Yes, I spend a lot of time with him,"

"Would you say you know him? His politics?"

"Well," Sasha said carefully, like she was thinking the question over. "I don't guess I can't really believe to know him—he's a thousand years old," The Smile. "I'm sure he's done bad things, but I think he's a good person. And as far as politics… Eric doesn't really care for them. Vampire or human. He once told me he only really cares about his business and Pam,"

"I see. Miss Buckley, Eric Northman has been accused of conspiracy against the Crown— _my_ crown. What do you say about these accusations?" asked Bill.

"But Eric doesn't want to be king," said Sasha. "I asked him about it once—that's when he told me that he only cares about business, not politics,"

"I am a thousand years old, Bill," interrupted Eric, unable to keep quiet any longer."By comparison you were born yesterday. I have heard chatter in Fangtasia that questions why—I was the natural choice for many, given my age. Given the rumors that say I killed Russell Edgington,"

Bill snorted; Sasha had to force herself not to raise an eyebrow. Eric had as good as admitted that he had ended Russell Edgington to her; why did he sound contrary now?

"But I have shut down those rumors, Bill. I don't want them in my Area, just as you well know that I don't want the throne. I would prefer to return to the quiet life of Sheriff—without a target on my back. Everything the girl has said is true. I've done nothing to undermine your Authority,"

"For now,"

Sasha felt Eric's gaze slide to her, then away.

"Bill, Sookie is gone," said Eric. His voice had changed; it had softened some, though it was firm in its resolution. The King flinched.

"I am well aware of that," he gritted out.

"Then you know that punishing me for feelings she may or may not have had for me is futile. Let's just both return to our existences in peace. I swore an oath to you, remember?"

"And you think I trust it?"

"You should," said Eric. "I would never endanger my progeny's life. That, at least, you can trust,"

Again Bill looked conflicted.

"You're not known to take humans. Why have you claimed this one?"

Eric offered a careless shrug. "She wanted to use my name to get herself out of trouble; now she's paying a debt,"

"How?"

Eric rolled his eyes, scoffing impatiently. "She has a tight body and gives very enthusiastic head. You do that math, Bill,"

Sasha's eyes widened, just as Bills; it was all she could do to shout an lengthy expletive at Eric. Bill appeared similarly embarrassed, like he wished he hadn't asked in the first place.

"Look, I wanted Sookie, yes, but my existence didn't exactly center around her like yours did,"

"You don't think she will return?"

"I don't doubt that she will," said Eric. "It just doesn't mean to me what it means to you,"

This seemed to what Bill needed to hear.

"I will let you go, Northman. On the condition that you report to me any news—even rumors—about an uprising against me. Louisiana cannot continue to see unrest. Do not make me regret this,"

Eric acquiesced, dipping his head.

"Of course My King,"

* * *

They were led out of the building after that by the vampire Chang. Sasha remained quiet the whole time, eyes trained on the vampire's heavy duty combat boots out of the mansion and to the lawn. From there he watched her leave, and she led the way down the drive to where Pam was parked and waiting. She couldn't have been gone more than an hour, but it had felt like an eternity. She still didn't dare speak as they reached Pam.

"Eric!" Pam exclaimed in obvious relief. Sasha stood off awkwardly to the side, feeling like she was intruding as Maker and progeny embraced. They exchanged words in rapid Swedish, until finally, Eric said something in English that caught her ear. She could already feel his eyes on her and, when she turned around, she was unsurprised to meet his blue steel gaze head on.

"I'd like to speak with Sasha alone," said Eric. He didn't break his gaze from Sasha's, and she found it difficult to breathe beneath its intensity. There was just something there—perhaps he wasn't angry at all. She thought he would be, given they'd both ignored his instructions to stay out of it.

"How angry are you?" she asked when Pam announced she'd meet Eric at his apartment then disappeared.

"Angry?" repeated Eric, closing the distance between them. She gasped when he drew her tightly against him by her hips, placing her hands against his chest to keep from falling into him. His breath fanned across her lips as he murmured, "I've not sure I've ever desired you more than I have now,"

A little dazed him that _fucking look_ he had her pinned with, she asked breathlessly, "Because I acted and dressed like Sookie Stackhouse?"

"Because I just watched you play a vampire king like a fucking violin, and for _my_ benefit. You, Miss Buckley, are something else,"

"Oh," said Sasha, flushing a little with pleasure at the obvious compliment and admiration in his voice. "I just thought me might be a little more inclined to listen if—"

"—if you looked and acted like his lost girlfriend? Clever and cruel; how did you even know to exploit that weakness?" asked Eric. He still hadn't let go of her; she wanted to tell him that they needed to get going, that they were still practically in the shadow of Compton's mansion, that Pam was waiting for him…but it felt good to stand there with him, to be held and appreciated for her wit.

"I wasn't sure," she admitted. "It was a bit of a gamble. Looks like it paid off, though,"

"Looks, like, yes," Eric said huskily, eyes bright with _gods_ if she didn't feel the sultry tone of his voice down to the bottom of her toes. He was just too goddam sexy for her own good.

She knew he was going to kiss her enough time before he did that she could have moved away. But she didn't, and when his lips pressed against hers in a hungry kiss, she returned it, parting her lips to his eager tongue. She cupped her hand against the back of his neck, fully allowing herself to enjoy his kiss.

It was indescribable, kissing Eric Northman. The best Sasha could do was to simply bask in it, bask in having his full attention. Because that was how Eric kissed; he kissed like time stood still and like it was running out all at once, like he had all eternity for her, but was all at once aware of her mortality. He kissed her like nothing else was immediate, and walls and worried melted away the longer she remained pressed up against his arms; there was no one else, and it was a heady thing for someone to experience.

Of course, it didn't surprise her that he was such an excellent kisser. He kissed with passion and enthusiasm, and like he was generously offering up a preview of what was to come if she allowed it, if she only gave in, if she only allowed him to use that tongue in more than just her mouth—

Feeling fire and magic flutter dangerously inside her, she pulled away reluctantly.

"Look, I'm very glad you're off the chopping block, as it were," said Sasha, teeth scraping momentarily over her bruised lips. How long had it been since she'd been kissed— _really_ been kissed? "But now that you're good, I've got stuff to figure out. Like the fact that I'm homeless, I'm out of control magic-wise and—God I have no idea what I'm doing about anything,"

"We'll figure it out, Sasha," promised Eric. "Your housing situation has an obvious solution. You'll stay with me, and that solves one problem. Convenient, too, so that I can…" he trailed his fingertips across her collarbones, heated eyes meeting hers. "Can thank you properly for saving my life. It means a lot to me; chances are I'll still be thanking you by daybreak. Tell me, was I right about your enthusiastic fellatio?"

Sasha's jaw dropped at his blatantly filthy mouth. At the image he inadvertently conjured in her minds eyes of her on her knees before him, heat exploded across her chest and low in her belly —and at her feet. She yelped in alarm, quickly stepping over the flames to put them out.

"Fuck," yelped Eric in surprise, stepping safely back from the flames. When they were out he approached her cautiously.

"Are you…?"  
"I'm fine," said Sasha, miserable with exhaustion and embarrassment. "Just—you know how if you get turned on your fangs drop? Well when you talk like _that_ fires happen. So just—keep your thoughts to yourself. You know what, just don't touch me— _don't you dare give me that look, Northman,_ "

Amusement had returned to his features, but he remained mercifully silent on the matter. Well, almost.

"Funny how something that can kill me is suddenly so endearing. And ego-stroking,"

"It's because you're a straight up narcissist," she said, rolling her eyes. "And, if you really need me to clarify, your ego is the only thing getting stroked tonight,"

"That may very well be," grinned Eric. He took her hand into his. "However, this narcissist is very grateful to you. For saving my life, of course, but also for the fact that my progeny is still in one piece," he said seriously. "Trust me, I haven't overlooked how difficult it must have been for you to tolerate Pam, given what she did to you."

Sasha's breath caught in her throat, and the second his lips pressed to her knuckles, his dangerous blue eyes piercing her, she wished more than anything that he _couldn't_ feel her every emotion.

Eric froze, blinking a few times. He straightened up, frowning.

"Stop that," he said.

"Stop what?"

"Stop—you're shielding me from our bond," said Eric. "How are you doing that?"

Sasha looked down at their connected hands, a relieved thrill passing through her. She'd actually done it.

"I'm not doing it on purpose, not really," she told him. "Well, sort of,"

" _Well_ stop," said Eric, causing her to arch an eyebrow. "It feels—I feel you, but I can't feel your emotions. I don't like it,"

She snatched her hand away from him. "Well tough luck. I think I like it better this way. You always have the upper hand,"

"We're on the same side here, remember?"

"Then what's the problem?" she asked. Eric looked at her strangely, finally shaking his head.

"You are so fucking infuriating, you know that?"

" _I_ am?" she asked incredulously. "You're the one that—whatever,"

Eric rolled her eyes as she sulked, slipping out of his jacket and wrapping it around her. At her questioning look, he informed her that it would be a cold flight to Shreveport, even for _a little firestarter_.

"Don't call me that," she snapped. "And I'm not going to Shreveport with you,"

"Why the hell not?" demanded Eric, exasperation thick.

"Because I can just get a motel here in Bon Temps," she told him. "I have to be here in the morning anyway—I should probably talk to Sam at some point about the fact that I burned down his house, and whether I like it or not, I really need to talk to my grandmother,"

"Collette?" said Eric, an eyebrow raised at her skeptically. "Correct me if I'm not mistaken, but wasn't she what sparked this in the first place—quite literally speaking?"

"Don't get cute," said Sasha. "But…yes. We don't have the typical grandmother-granddaughter relationship. Hell, she's not just a stranger to me, but I don't know that I really trust her to be honest with me. But my magic is a mess and I don't know who else to go to for help, so…"

"Yes, and though I don't believe you should cut ties with her, is it wise to go to her now?"

"I'll be fine. Besides, I should be staying away from you. Your blood intensifies everything I feel about you—now your stupid smirk doesn't just annoy me, it has the potential to turn me into a pyromaniac. Not to mention your progeny—no, what I need is to fucking suck it up and go talk to my grandmother," she said resolutely. Eric looked troubled.

"And perhaps you're right. But there has to be someone else that can help you—someone with a pulse, preferably. We can find someone that—"

"You keeping saying 'we'," Sasha said impatiently. "There is no _we_ , Eric. This is something I have to figure out on my own,"

He looked like he wanted to argue with her—he definitely did. But his eyes landed on the scorched grass at their feet and he thought better of it, perhaps realizing the slew of emotions she was waging through.

"Come on," he said finally. He led the way to her car, and Sasha didn't argue when he asked for the keys. He drove her to the motel in silence, at least after asking if she wanted to talk about the fire. She declined. She could tell he didn't agree with her on anything she'd said tonight, and that he was having difficulty simply accepting it without a fight. It simply wasn't like him.

"I'll need some cash," she admitted when they arrived at the motel. "Didn't really have time to grab a purse on my way out of the bungalow,"

"That's the least of your concerns right now," said Eric. "I have you covered until you're back on your feet. I'll have some things sent over for you tomorrow,"

She was about to tell him that he didn't have to; even though her ooey-gooey post kiss feelings had all but fizzled out, she didn't want him to think she didn't appreciate what he did for her. Because she did, she just didn't like that one stupid smile of his and gesture as simple as a kiss to the hand and a sincere thank you threatened to melt her down faster than the bungalow had gone up in flames. But Eric gave her one single look and she simply nodded. He knew.

"I really appreciate that," said Sasha. And she did; she was his, and she appreciated that he had every intention of following through on every promise he'd made to take care of her, even if it was currently rather one sided.

It took longer than it should have to get her a room; though the man at the desk remembered her well enough from her stay just a few months ago—had that much time passed already?—he was decidedly _not_ vampire friendly, and he was under the impression that they were booking a room because Eric was paying her for blood and sex. Finally, Eric had to glamour the man into giving them a room.

"You disapprove?" Eric asked as he walked her to her room.

"I probably should, I guess," said Sasha, knowing he meant the glamoring. "I'm annoyed that I'm back at this shit-hole,"

"I'd have more sympathy if you didn't have an alternative," drawled Eric as he walked her to her room. "I'll think of you when I'm in my multi-jet tub later on tonight—though admittedly, it won't be the first time I do,"

"Ass," she muttered, rolling her eyes. She stopped on the eve of her motel room, turning to face him.

"One last thing," said Sasha. Head cocked to the side a little. "Who's Sookie?"

"I thought you'd discerned that," said Eric.

"Fine, who is she to you?"

Eric studied her carefully. "I'd ask if you were jealous, but I can feel that's not the case,"

"Not that it should matter to you anyway, but I don't get jealous," said Sasha. "So?"

"Sookie Stackhouse was…is…a telepath. She belonged to Bill Compton, but I coveted her gift. It's very useful, I don't think I have to explain. I…might have misled her, and that resulted in her willingly, accidentally ingesting my blood. We've had some run ins over the past two years. So to answer your question, she's an asset of mine…a friend. She had the potential to become more to me but…" Eric shrugged. "Things are as they are meant to,"

She had no reason to suspect he was lying, mostly because she thought that Eric, startlingly enough, had been the most honest with her of everyone. But she did wonder if he was withholding more.

 _Of course he is_ , said Sasha. But what did he owe her by way of explanation, anyway? She toyed with what he had just told her, thinking that if there was more, than it simply wasn't her business. He'd already answered her more than maybe she deserved. She wasn't his anything, and so she had no right to the details of whatever romantic triangle had possibly gone on between Eric, Sookie, and Bill. She went to open her motel door, but she paused, turning back to him again.

"I kind of lied to you earlier," she admitted, playing with the chipped plastic keychain of the motel key. "About why how I came up with Bill's weakness,"

Eric listened very attentively as she told him about her experience with Marco Vizzi. By the end his mouth was pressed into a very tight, fine line.

"…and," she hesitated, running a hand through her hair. She'd taken it down in the car, and now she ran her fingertips against her tender scalp. "…and it was just easy. Like, it was second nature. I'd never really thought about sex until I was about that age, but I realized how easily it was to act in a way that made someone attracted to you," Sasha swallowed, looking down at the key in her hands. "How easy it was to manipulate people by smiling or acting a certain way. The next day I went out to the mall. I was curious about my newfound…power. Three hours later I'd found a man much older than me who was willing to buy me lunch and all the pretty things that I wanted—things I could afford anyway, with how Malachi provided for me. And all I had to do was talk to him, smile at him, say the right things to make him want me, to make him want to just…At first I felt really good. Because I was good at it. I just always knew how to smile, when to laugh, what to say. Then when I went home, I looked at all of my new things sitting there, spread out on the bed…and it just kind of hit me that that's how that man would have wanted me, all spread out on the bed just so he could use my body for some sick fantasy of his own. And it scared me, because I just kind of realized I was only fourteen and I shouldn't be aware of those things or _using them_ and—"

She broke off, squeezing her eyes shut. She'd never told anyone that, not even Malachi. Sasha had never begrudged him for the lesson he'd taught her that day; it had been her idea after all. But through the years she couldn't help but look back at that moment as when she'd realized how men wanted her and would always wanted her; because she had pretty skin and a youthful smile, because she had all the right parts in just the proportions they liked, not because she was smart or thoughtful or kind.

Sasha wasn't even sure why she was telling that to Eric. If he wanted to know anything, it would be about how she'd set fire to the bungalow, why she'd conveniently forgotten to tell him that she could set fires with a mere thought.

She felt his finger tilt her chin up, coaxing her to look up at him. She had a faint trace of disgust for herself, though not as strong as she'd had ten years ago. Her cause might have been just, but she'd just used a vampire's love for a woman as a tool to get what she wanted. What did that make her?

There was a slight crinkle in Eric's forehead as he tried to think of something to say. When he couldn't quite think of what to say, or perhaps how to say it, he simply leaned in and placed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. Sasha's eyes fluttered shut. When they reopened, Eric was gone, but her mouth still tingled.

* * *

 **As much as i love this site, i hate it! I haven't been receiving any emails about follows/faves/reviews, so at first i thought no one had done so after last chapter! Then when i came to check the sight instead of my email, it wouldn't load or pages would go dead before i could upload/look. :( Hoping this is fixed now.**

 **PS, does anyone ready these?**

 **Guest:** Funny and mortifying, I assure you. In my initial draft the dream sort of ended (and it wasn't at all steamy) and then just sort of went into the convo with Cookie; i think this version is much more satisfying lol.

 **bubu-chibi-chan:** A quick explanation: The museum scene ended. The dream happened later that night, when she was already home and asleep AFTER the gala. Sorry if that was confusing. It's fine that you pointed out the mistakes-there are definitely loads more! lol. Thanks! Sleazy grass field scene was def a favorite to write...i mean come on. Who doesn't want to roll around with Eric Northman in the grass?

 **Liza:** Sasha's family is definitely complex. It sucks about her dad, but with Cookie there's that whole magical history thing that makes it a bit difficult to both trust her and say 'okay F you then'. I'm very happy that you're enjoying Eric and Sasha's romance; i've said it before and i'll say it again, it's important to me that there's reasons between why they feel the way they do about each other!

 **Lucy:** Sasha is def lacking in the awesome!humans department. Glad you didn't see the Senator being her dad! I always wanted that as a bit of a plot twist. I KNOW how badly you want Eric/Sasha together. I do to. But the slowburn is torturously fun, no? As much as i can't wait to get to the hot stuff, i've turned into such a sap at their little moments-i think the end of this chapter will give a bit of further insight into the slowburn/why Sasha is always so pleasantly surprised by the kind of attention Eric gives her. And yes, that cliff hanger was a tad cruel :|

 **Guest:** Thank you so much! Love to hear people binge read this-i go back and look at the word count and am so amazed every time i'm told you guys do that!


	22. Chapter 22

_**Chapter 22: Trust**_

Sasha woke that next morning feeling more than a little under the weather. She'd slept terribly, though that was to be expected. The bed was lumpy, the polyester sheets stiff, and she'd been cold all night long, shivering beneath her blanket. But when did find heat in was in her dreams, and it did not bring her solace; Fire wreaked havoc on her nightmares, it's crackling voice toying and taunting her as she tried to run from it, wishing desperately for the cold embrace of ice to relieve her.

She hadn't been harmed during the fire at the bungalow, though realistically Sasha knew she should have suffered from several burns. She recalled that the smoke had been the worst threat, somehow; it had stung her eyes and clogged her throat, disorienting her as she cowered in her bed. As the flames had spiraled high and all-consuming, for the first time in Sasha's life, she had not thought to save herself. Fear had paralyzed her in a way she was unused to, and it was with shame that she realized she'd been ready to surrender to the fire.

There had been a flicker of acceptance in her as the fire had raged, and Sasha was both horrified and bewildered by it's appearance. She'd never been one to give up, and she couldn't understand why she had in that moment. Her saving grace, ironically, had been the fire itself; she'd realized that though it lashed out and her and touched her, it hadn't burned her. Still, even just the thought of an open flame was enough to put her on edge.

She watched the sun rise through the dusty window, her chin in the between the cleft between her kneecaps, considering what her next move would be. _Her next move_ ; when had her life become strategy rather than just that—living?

Her first order of business, she decided, was to find and apologize to Sam Merlotte. There no doubt he'd tried to reach out to her, but without her phone that would have been impossible. But she had to apologize for and assure him that she'd pay him back for every cent he'd lost with the burning of the bungalow, which he was likely worried about. Though they'd become friendly over the past months, there was no truly formal contract between them, and he might fear she'd skipped town to avoid paying for damages.

She realized, however, that she first needed a few things. Namely clothes. That issue fixed itself, however, when at promptly seven-thirty on the dot, someone knocked on her door. A man stood on the other side, laden with shopping bags and an envelope.

Eric Northman had, of course, thought about everything. She found a prepaid cell phone with different numbers—Eric's, Pam's, Fangtasia's. She found a wallet with cash and a prepaid card, it's pin number taped to it. In the bags she found changes of clothes, nice but simple things like jeans and sweaters and a jacket she was eager to bundle up in. She'd slept in Eric's for extra warmth; he'd never taken it back the night before, and she hadn't offered it back. Although it had held a hint of smoke in its leather, the scent was all the ancient vampire's. It had been comforting in the stale motel room, and she'd decided against dwelling on the fact.

When she found the undergarments, however, she rolled her eyes; thought the rest of the clothes that had been put together for her were of obvious quality, they were simple and based in necessity given her current situation. The underwear had very little to do with necessity, and could only be described as naughty. Naughty and tiny. She held up a scrap of sage green lace between her thumbs and index fingers, scowling deeply.

" _Northman_ ," she bit out in exasperation.

In her time in Bon Temps, Sasha had learned several of the dos and don'ts about town, and she'd quickly learned all of the go-to spots; quickly, because there weren't all that many. But all of Bon Temps would readily agree that the only other edible food aside from Merlotte's would was found at Mammy's. It was a tiny hole-in-the-wall bakery owned by an elderly husband and wife, and other than their famously tar-like coffee, their pastries were out of this world. And so Sasha picked up a box with just about one of everything, and then she made her way over to Sam's trailer.

She knocked on the door of Sam's trailer, reassured by the shuffling she heard behind it that he was inside. A shirtless Sam Merlotte greeted her not too long after, looking incredibly surprised to find her standing at the bottom of his trailer with a pink pastry box.

"Sasha," he greeted. "Well hot damn. Come on in,"

She smiled at him as she was let into his trailer, eyes curiously moving about. She'd only ever been in one camper before; that had been Beth's. Thinking about the burly, irritable woman, she realized with a grin that she and Sam shared more than a few traits.

The trailer was obviously Sam's home. For a man that considered Bon Temps home, owned several buildings (well, one less these days) in the small town, she found it funny and very telling that he lived in a motor home.

"How are you, Sasha? Was worried about you,"

"I'm fine," she admitted, setting the pastries on the nearest counter. "Luckily, I guess. Sam—I am _so_ sorry about your house,"

"Don't fret. Houses are replaceable. You ain't," said Sam, smiling kindly at her with those baby blues of his. "Money ain't the most important thing there is. 'N sometimes we— _I_ —forget that, but don't think for a minute I'm angry with you. 'Sides, I was planning on doing some work on the place. Wallpaper was god-awful, and you saved me from havin' to strip it,"

Sasha laughed, his words making her feel a little less guilty. He was an unbelievably kind man, Sam Merlotte, and definitely taking it better than she could have hoped. He asked if she wanted coffee, then shook his head before she'd even answered.

"'Course you want coffee. And look at that—you avoided grabbin' some from Mammy's. Someone's getting' real local," he teased her.

When he placed a steaming cup of coffee in a chipped mug in front of her, he asked her with far more serious eyes, "You sure you're okay? You look fine, but I can imagine it was quite the traumatic experience. Fire department said you were asleep when it happened,"

"I'm okay, really," lied Sasha. She was far from it, but far be it Sam's problem to deal with her fucked up life. "I just wanted to assure you that I'll pay for all the damages right away—and I'm sorry I didn't come sooner, just it's been a bit, well—"

"—a bit complicated?" supplied Sam. She sighed.

"Yeah, a bit. I just didn't want you to think I'd skipped down without taking care of the damages,"

Sam watched her oddly for a moment. Then he stood from his stool, backing up to a cubby near the door. He grabbed a white envelop from the top drawer, then tossed it down on the table between them.

"Go on," he encouraged.

It had already been opened, and Sasha easily slipped out the neatly written out check from inside. It was for a total of forty-five thousand dollars, and written out to Sam Merlotte from—

" _Eric_ gave you this check?" she exclaimed, looking up at him sharply.

"Stopped by last night. Didn't feel like giving me too many details as to why he was doing it. Prick," said Sam.

"What did he say?"

"Like I said, not much. He said it was for the bungalow. I asked if you were all right, and where you were staying, but all he'd say was that you were bein' taken care of,"

Sasha bit on the inside of her cheek, not knowing how to react. She was happy that Sam at least had his money back; she wasn't so sure how she felt about Eric having been the one to pay it. She knew the money was little more than pocket change to a vampire like Eric, but his promises of taking care of her were starting to feel a little contrived, like she was being bought.

So far, she'd helped him out the once—last night. He'd been doing far more for her for a while now. At which point did he decide that his investment was wielding a high enough return? And what happened then?

She thought back to the night before, when she'd told him about the vampire Marco Vizzi; she'd opened up to him once again, unprompted, simply because it had felt right in the moment. Remembered how, when realizing there was nothing he could say that she wanted to hear in that moment, he'd placed a sweet kiss to the corner of her mouth instead.

Sasha buried her face in her hands, groaning loudly into them. She felt Sam's hand, warm and just a little clammy, pry her hands away from her face.

"You wanna talk about it?" asked Sam.

"Wouldn't know where to begin, Sam," she admitted, brushing her hair out of her face. It was course and frizzy; the hard motel water had done hell on it's texture. "I understand if you don't want to cash that—I can get you the money myself,"

Sam took the check from her, turning it over in her hands. "The money ain't a big concern right now. But tell me; if I cash in this check, does that make you indebted to Eric Northman?"

"That's a very good question," said Sasha. "And I really wish I had the right answer. I'm indebted to Eric no matter what; he'd been very good too—I'm just worried that he's been _too_ good. He's coming off as just a little too perfect, and I'm starting to wonder if I didn't make a deal with the devil,"

She didn't care about the money he'd spent on her dress to for the gala they'd attended, nor the money he'd spent on the clothes he'd sent over that morning. Those were just things, things that had no meaning to them and they both knew had no hold on her. Her feelings around Sam's bungalow made the waters around his payment of it murky.

At Sam's quirked eyebrow, she confessed," "I'm, I'm his. He saved my life, _again_ , and this time it wasn't free. And he's been helping me out since," she gestured to the check in his hands. "And I think he's…fond of me. But can a vampire like him really just be so good to someone simply out of fondness? He hasn't even known me long and…I'm terrified of trusting him too much,"

"I don't know the guy too well, but I do know he's hard to figure out," said Sam. "I went to him for a favor once. We had this…" he paused, then gave her a funny look. "We had a maenad problem,"

"Maenad?" asked Sasha. "Wouldn't have pegged Bon Temps as the place where ancient Greek cults gathered,"

"Oh, no, I don't think you know what you're talking about," said Sam.

A little insulted, Sasha squared her shoulders back a bit. "I've studied Ancient Greek history quite a bit, Sam. Maenads are also known as Lenaia, and there's a lot of artwork that points us to the ancient cult dedicated to Dionysus—"

"Alright, alright, I believe you, no need to go all history professor on me," grinned Sam.

"Sorry," smiled Sasha.

"Well, while I don't doubt a single word you're sayin', the maenad I'm talkin' about was a supernatural psychotic bitch hell-bent on sacrificing supes to her god," said Sam. "I'd run into her once before, when I was young. This time was so much worse—she practically enslaved the whole town with some crazy spell,"

"Okay, okay," said Sasha, holding her hands up. "Stop and starting from the beginning. Tell me _everything_ ,"

By the time Sam had explained everything to her, she was astounded. Sasha had understood that there were supes living in secret for over a decade. But supes were secretive for a reason, and it always was a surprise to learn about the different kinds out there. Even if they didn't get along, there tended to be an unspoken courtesy amongst supes: don't out another supe. She'd been so young when she'd learned about vampires, they were forever ingrained in her world view; she'd met werewolves too, not long after. Witches she'd learned about a little more traumatically, being one herself, and shifters had been pretty much in passing. It still amazed her, and something like the maenad that Sam described, that was just…wow.

"Remember, she was pretty damn evil and fucked up in the head," said Sam. "And killed a few people. And ate them," She quickly toned down her amazement.

"Yeah, right. Sorry," she said sheepishly. "Wait, so what did that have to do with Eric?"

"Right, Eric," said Sam, remembering why he'd brought the vampire up in the first place. Sasha had sidetracked him with all her questioning—and even he'd had a laugh when he'd recounted how he, Jason Stackhouse, and Andy Bellefleur had escaped a mob trying to sacrifice him. He'd had to pause his story as Sasha was left in stitches at Jason pretending to be a god and his having to shout, "Smite me motherfucker!"

"I wasn't too sure where to turn to, so I went to him. Figured he'd have to know about something like that. Turned out he didn't, but knew someone who did. So he went and found out for me. He was an ass about it, wanted 'tribute'," Sam rolled his eyes at that. "Bill Compton beat him to it, but I never heard from Eric again about paying him back, even though I know he went and got the information I asked for. I honestly don't think he'll be hounding me for it, either. I guess what I'm trying to say is, maybe you don't need to worry too much, if its Eric you owe. Least not as much as you might with other vamps."

He paused, then tapped the check against the countertop. "Tell ya what—I ain't gonna cash this check in. I don't need the money now, if I wanna rebuild, I won't do that until Spring, anyway. That'll give you some time to think if you want me to accept his money or not,"

"That's…that's more than I deserve," said Sasha, smiling sadly. "Thank you so much, Sam,"

"Don't worry 'bout it. Look, we all gotta stick together 'gainst these big bad vamps," he smiled at her. On the surface he was joking, but she read that there was some unspoken depth there. Sam probably hadn't guessed what she was, but he had to have sensed that she was _something_.

"Yeah, yeah I guess we do," said Sasha with a heavy sigh. That was good of an omission on her behalf as he was going to get.

"Where are you crashing at now? With Eric?" asked Sam.

"God no," said Sasha. "That would be…that would be a bad idea. I'm back at the motel," she told him. "Maybe that's a sign I should be bugging outta here," she added under her breath.

For a moment, Sam watched her worriedly. "If there's anything I can do to help, let me know. You're too young for all this shit, girl,"

She laughed bitterly as she rose from the high stool. "I'm starting to think I was just born into it—destined for a messy life,"

Sam walked her to the door and wished her the best, telling her to stop back by Merlotte's for a meal. She thanked him, waiting until the door to the trailer shut and she was able to drop her smile.

Her next stopped she looked forward to a lot less; Montgomery Manor. She sat in the Camaro in the parking lot of Merlotte's for a moment, trying to get the tension in her shoulders to dissipate. She knew it was likely whatever happened when she went to go see her grandmother was likely to cause her emotions to spike drastically, and she was not eager to set another house on fire.

"Well lookey who it is," called Lafayette. The man sauntered over to her with his usual vibrant aura and, as she'd noticed, his usual guard. She didn't think he had that up with most people, at least not how he did with her. Whether because he was a psychic or because he was simply very intuitive, he knew something was off with her, and though he'd been kind to her when she was at Merlotte's, she noticed he kept his distance from her. She had the feeling that he didn't approve of how friendly his boyfriend was towards her; when they bumped into each other at Merlotte's, Jesús was often inviting her to hang out. She hadn't seen either since Halloween, when she'd stopped by the Merlotte's party; it had only been a short week ago. Wow.

"Hey Lafayette," she greeted, putting on a smile. He saw right through it. "You look dead tired. Chasing after fangs all night?" he asked knowingly. Like everyone else in town, he knew that she was somehow connected to Eric Northman.

She snorted; it was funny what under-eye bags meant to so many people nowadays. Then again, he wasn't entirely wrong. "Something like that, I guess,"

Lafayette hesitated. "Heard about the fire. Yous okay?'

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks for asking," she snapped. Realizing how rude she sounded she tugged at her curls. "Look, I'm sorry. People keep asking me that and—"

"—and you ain't fine," nodded Lafayette. "You'll get there,"

She offered him a small smile, and this time it was genuine. He understood, at least, and he wasn't passing any judgment. "Thanks, Lafayette,"

"No problem. But stop by wit yo' fine ass or somethin'. Jesús been on my ass askin' were you disappeared off to, and a bitch is startin' ta get jealous," said Lafayette. She laughed at that, and after promising to stop by, she finally turned to her car. Then she paused, turning on her heel and cocking her head in his direction.

"Think I can get a hit or two off you?"

Sasha had never been much of a fan of marijuana. She'd smoked a bit here and there in college, mostly to try to force some semblance of 'fitting in' with her fellow classmates. But it had never been her poison of choice, not even during her party phase. She'd always stuck to cigarettes and alcohol, though these days she was laying off of both. The thought of having to light a cigarette turned her stomach over, and even when Lafayette had lit the joint he'd expectedly had handy, she'd gone pale and rigid, even though he'd had the foresight to turn away a little before sparking his lighter.

Currently, she was willing to change her stance a bit on the recreational use of the stuff. Her mind slowed down a little, and even though all the subjects she'd woken up fretting about were still there at the forefront of her mind, she found that the worry that accompanied them usually was toned down, white noise in the background. Her body felt loose, and she rolled up to Montgomery Manor the calmest she ever had since finding out about her connection to the place.

Cookie appeared the second she crossed onto the property line, eyes wild. Unlike the last time, when she'd looked sick with worry, she looked absolutely furious.

"Now you _know_ I cannot come to you—do you know how worried I've been? Does that seem like a thing to do to your dead grandmother—keep her so worried?"

"What, worried half to death?" asked Sasha sardonically. "Oops,"

Cookie pursed her lips, plump cheeks lifting high with the movement. "You might not like me very much, Miss Sasha, but you _are_ my granddaughter, and there ain't nothin' you can do to change that. You're gonna have to try to get along with me,"

"I just smoked half a joint before lunchtime," said Sasha, checking her watch. "All so I wouldn't accidentally burn down your house. Trust me, I'm trying,"

Her grandmother considered this with a concerned expression. Finally she waved her forward. "Come into the house and talk to me,"

Up in the attic, Sasha recounted what had happened to Cookie in full, from her kidnapping to Eric getting arrested. Cookie was surprisingly patient throughout her story—Sasha was sure it took a lot for her to be so quiet.

"…and that's all I'm saying about it. I don't want your opinion on any of it, and I _really_ don't want to hear you tell me that Eric is an awful vampire and that I can't trust him. I'm not really handling personal critiques all that well these days,"

"Fine," Cookie said carefully. She did, at least, understand how important it was to keep Sasha calm. "But I will ask that you be careful around him. Around everyone. You're shaping up to be more powerful than I thought—and quickly, too. There will be people that will want to exploit that. And now that you are… _aligned_ with Northman—" Cookie seemed unable to verbally acknowledge that her granddaughter belonged to a vampire. "—there could be those that might want to use you to get to him. So be very aware, and very vigilant,"

Cookie had a point. But she wasn't so worried about vampires coming after her any time soon. "Trust me, only a vampire with a death wish would dare touch me now,"

Her grandmother didn't look all that convinced.

"We can at least agree that Eric will keep me safe," said Sasha. "Did you forget the part about the fang earrings?"

Cookie scoffed. "And that doesn't bother you one bit? That he'd do that to one of his own kind, for a witch he's known for a few months? That's a blink of an eye for a vampire,"

Sasha shrugged. She hadn't liked wearing those earrings; it hadn't bothered her so much what Eric had done to that vampire. It had been the opposite, and if anything _that_ bothered her a little. But Cookie didn't need to know any of that.

"I think Eric doesn't care as much as you do about kind. Vampire, witch, he doesn't care. He either cares about you or he doesn't," said Sasha.

"And you think he cares for you?" asked Cookie.

"I think he cares about the investment he's made in what I am," said Sasha. "And he's fond of me. Look, you asked him to find me, and he did. I don't think Eric is someone I have to worry about,"

 _Not in the way you think, anyway_ , thought Sasha.

"That dead man is gonna be trouble for our family," sighed Cookie. And, for once, Cookie's complaint inspired a faint smile for Sasha. The way the ghost lamented over Eric wasn't angrily or accusingly; it was exasperated, like she'd finally accepted Eric was in her granddaughters life for the foreseeable future.

"So tell me about my power," said Sasha. "Why is it like this all of a sudden? Just exploding out of me? How do I stop it?"

"You'll have to train very, very carefully," said Cookie. "I don't have to tell you how destructive it can be. It's…every element is different. But if you can center yourself, if you can be calm and serene, you can master anything,"

"I used to be serene," said Sasha. "It's been a fucked up few months, though, even for me,"

"That will have a lot to do with how your power manifests," said Cookie. "You're getting overwhelmed in your head and in your heart, and that will always show in your magic. You gotta start thinking about your magic as an extension of you, as part of your body and overall healthy. You gotta exercise it like a muscle, and you gotta take care of it. Take care of _you_ , mind, body and soul. Stress and worry gnaw away at you and make you volatile. Especially being a Fire Affinity,"

"So you're saying if I start eating my greens, drink lots of water, and join a yoga class I'll be okay?" Sasha asked skeptically.

"I'm saying when you start to make peace with yourself you'll start to have more control," said Cookie. "You're a very angry girl, Sasha,"

"I am _not_ ,"

"Please, just listen to me. For once. If you listen to anything I ever say, let it be this," said Cookie tiredly. She came to kneel before Sasha. "This ain't no critique, baby girl. You've been through so much in your short life—too much for a girl your age. You _are_ angry, and you should be. I praise you for not breaking down long ago. Your family failed you— _I_ failed you—and so have so many others. You had people close to you turn out to be monsters, and baby you might care for those vampires of yours, but deep down you must understand that so much of how you grew up was unnatural,"

Sasha's jaw trembled a little as her teeth clenched together tightly. She wanted to vehemently deny everything her grandmother was saying to her, but she felt that she'd be proving her right by snapping. Cookie seemed to sense her resistance anyway. She sighed deeply.

"Take some time to yourself. Come back to me when you feel that you can, and I will do what I can to help you with this, Sasha. But please consider my words. I know you don't trust me, but I do love you more than you'll ever know. Everything I say, everything I do, it's for your good."

She'd been expecting Eric. But, as had happened only a few short days ago, she was surprised by Jason Stackhouse's appearance.

"Jason, hi," she said, trying and failing to sound upbeat. She'd been stewing in her own misery since leaving her grandmothers, arguing with herself that she _wasn't_ the angry person Cookie had made her out to be. Frustrated and disappointed, but not angry. Then she'd realized that the more she'd argued this with herself the more worked up she was getting, until finally the bag of popcorn she'd been holding exploded, kernels flying into fluffy pieces of popcorn in every direction.

She wondered how he'd known to find her here; then she realized Sam must have told him.

"Come on. Get yet stuff, you're comin' with me," Jason said gruffly.

"What? Where?"

"My place. You'll stay with me," he sounded so resolute she found it difficult to form an argument.

"I—I can't, Jason," she stammered. "You don't understand—"

"No, I don't think _you_ understand," said Jason, shaking his head stubbornly as his fingers dragged over his stubbly jaw. "You need a friend, and I need…I need to be useful to someone. So get your shit together, woman,"

Sasha stared at him for a moment, fascinated and annoyed by his obstinate manner. His brown eyes watched her expectantly, unwavering. Sasha was too tired to fight him, she realized, and even more, she didn't really want to be alone. She knew she should shut the door in his face, that in her unpredictable condition, she shouldn't take advantage of his kindness and put her in danger. But she felt all alone, and so she found herself surrendering to him.

"Okay, um, yeah. Let me just grab my stuff," she said. Jason waited patiently in the doorframe of the motel as she grabbed the stuff Eric had sent to her, the few possessions she still owned, and then gingerly followed after Jason. He told her they'd come get her car in the morning and that she could cancel her reservation then. She agreed mutely, letting him shepherd her to his car.

"Coulda let everyone know you were fine," Jason said when she'd climbed up into his truck. His eyes were fixed on the road, but she could detect a note of hurt in his voice. "Kinda had all of us worried when you up and disappeared like that after the fire. Jess at least knew. She called me to tell me you were fine,"

In her haste to help Eric, she'd completely neglected her newfound human friendships, friendships that, however new and tentative, Sasha had underestimated. She thought it over now with some shame; they cared about her, and Jason was right. She could have alerted them that she was safe and sound. And for Jason, to have her just up and disappear into thin air, after what happened with his sister…

"I'm sorry," she said lamely. There was no use trying to explain what had happened—though, after what Sam had told her about the maenad earlier that day, she suspected Jason could handle it better than most. "My phone was in the house—but that's no excuse. I should have found a way to let you guys know I was okay,"

"Damn straight," said Jason, glancing her way. His hard expression melted a little to give way to amused sympathy. "Always somethin' with you, ain't it?"

"Apparently," said Sasha. "Not that I got looking for trouble. Just has a knack for finding me,"

"Reminds me of someone else I know," said Jason. He was silent after that.

When they arrived at his house, Sasha bit down a smile. It was something of a mess, though it looked like he'd made some sort of effort to tidy up in that way college boys did when they expected female company; things were shoved in between couch cushions and behind furniture, and beneath the smell of beer and microwavable dinners, body spray had been sprayed thickly. Her throat felt scratchy all of a sudden, eyes tight.

"Well, this is it," said Jason, nodding to his living room. "It ain't much, I guess, if you're used to…well, whatever the hell typa place Eric Northman has. I'll show you to the extra bedroom and bathroom—"

Jason broke off as Sasha flung her arms around his neck. He stumbled a bit, but he caught her as she cried into his neck.

She cried for a long time. She clung to Jason like her sanity depended on it, finding rare comfort of hot flesh and a pulse against her cheek. When moved them to the couch, cradling her in his arms and patting her back, coaxing her to get it all out, she was so dizzy from crying she barely noticed. But she did; she cried and cried and cried, letting out all the pent up emotions she'd acquired over _so damn long_ just fizzle out.

Pam watched as three women stumbled up he stairs of Fangtasia's basement, frowning as she took in their expressions. Not only were they decidedly un-disheveled, but there was no trace of sweat on their skin, no telling flush of excitement. Actually, they just looked…something quite the opposite of all of that. Pam had never seen any such looks on anyone's face, not after leaving Eric's bed. Or sex dungeon basement or whatever the hell. But these women looked a mixture of disappointed, angry and, Pam thought embarrassed.

The boldest of them, a pale, busty woman with dark hair that Pam had been tempted to keep for herself, strutted up to her, flanked by the other women.  
"You said he'd fuck us," she accused loudly to be heard over the music, hands on her hips. Pam's eyebrows curved at her audacity. She excused herself from behind the bar, calling for Ginger to take over at the register.

She came to a stop in front of the trio, reaching up to dramatically flick her luscious blonde locks over a shoulder. God she loved her hair—it was perfect, it was beautiful, and it always lent itself to the most dramatic of motions.

"So what do you want from me, exactly?" Asked Pam. "If he decided to be a selfish lover—"

"He didn't," one of the girls spoke up, though she appeared terrified of addressing Pam directly. "He wasn't a, a lover I mean," she flushed at the word. "He just fed from us. Otherwise he didn't touch us,"

"He didn't," repeated Pam. She looked the women over again; she couldn't find anything unappealing about them—surely they'd been more than satisfactory for a celebratory four-way. She thought she'd picked out a good welcome home first for her Maker; they were easily the hottest the club had to offer that nigh. Had she been wrong?

"Fine, so he didn't want you," Pam said loftily. "Not my fucking problem. Be more appealing next time. Now fuck off, I'm busy,"

The women gasped, affronted by her dismissal. They stomped off, all but the busty one. Pam had her pinned with a single smirk.

"Not you," said Pam. Her eyes swept over her barely-there metallic tank dress. " _You_ stick around until midnight until I'm off,"

"So you can eat me, too? Pass," she said, trying to move past her.

Pam stopped her by putting a hand on her—deliberately missing her shoulder and groping her breast. "So I can eat you out _,_ " corrected Pam.

The woman's eyes went wide. Then she shrugged, trying to maintain a cool air. "Fine. I'll be on the dance floor until then," she pranced off, leaving Pam smirking after her. She did like them all prissy and needy every once in a while. It made it so fun to dominate them.

Then she turned to the basement, dropping her smirk. Eric was no longer in the basement. He was in his office, lazily buttoning up his shirt. Apparently he'd gotten the collar of his other one dirty.

"Thanks for dinner," he told her, coming around to peck her temple. "They were superb,"

"Really?" said Pam, sounding offended. "Because I was accepting to walk into an orgy. Where they not to your liking?"

"Like I said, they tasted fine," said Eric.

"I told them you'd 'em,"

"Since when did you pimp me out to humans?" asked Eric in amusement. "Besides, it's a little hard to get into the mood when Sasha's having a bit of a meltdown,"

"Ugh, her," whined Pam. "Should have known this was about her,"

"You've been connected to a human before. You know how strong the bond can be, especially with the blood still fresh. Between the potency of my blood and, I suspect, what she is…it's a heady combination for both of us,"

"Or she's just needy," said Pam, rolling her eyes.

"You realize she risked a great deal to save my life last night. I have no doubt Compton would have had me meet the True Death without her intervention," said Eric.

Pam soured immediately. "Fuck him," she spat. Then she cooled down. "I know. And I hate that, because now _I_ fucking owe her. You're my Maker, and I couldn't do a damn thing,"

"I'm glad you didn't, at least not directly," said Eric. "You kept your head. You know how much I appreciate that you are able to do that. If we'd tried to fight our way out of this one…we would have lost. Sasha was right in going the diplomatic route,"

"Diplomatic," scoffed Pam. She shook her head, glaring a hole through the floor of his office floor for a moment. "I can appreciate a could deception as much as the next girl. My weapon of choice is usually sex, you know that,"

"I do," Eric said, keeping a smile off his face with practiced ease. When he'd first turned Pam, he enjoyed her attempts at seducing him. Instead of simply asking him for things, things he would have gotten anyway, she'd for some reason though she'd have to work him to get whatever she wanted. He'd let her—to his amusement and both their pleasure—until she'd finally figured him out. Then it had simply become a sex game they enjoyed from time to time.

"How do you think she did it? Knew to even try that? It was absolute genius, Eric," said Pam. She sounded frustrated, rather than appreciative. But he understood.

"She was raised by a king to be as conniving as any vampire," said Eric. "And it appears she was an excellent student,"

"Enough she played Bill?" pressed Pam. "You're sure this isn't some ploy of his? How can you be sure her little game really worked,"

"Because of her scent," said Eric.

"Her scent?"

"Yes," said Eric. "Her blood, her scent… it's different to every vampire. Not necessarily in terms of how appealing it is. It must be some sort of defense mechanism; from what I've worked out, it changes to match, or I should say, it's perceived to match a vampire's preference or desires. To me, she smells like the home of my youth. Like the waters, the very air Sweden had long before it became Sweden. To you she smells like Chanel No. 5. To Daniel, she reminds him of some fond human memory he had. To Catherine, I suspect, she smelled of me. That's why she so readily believed that Sasha was mine before she'd had my blood. And so, following that logic, to Bill she might smell like…"

"Like Sookie," finished Pam. "And you've talked to her about this?"

"No," said Eric. "But I'm confident in my theory. Her little act worked—we have you to thank for that—but her scent sold it. I don't think Bill even realized how many times he breathed whiled she was in his office. That is how she was able to manipulate him,"

"And that doesn't worry you?" asked Pam.

"Sookie's blood was a magnet for trouble; Sasha's blood adds to her charm, helps make her magnetic. It makes people want her, not drain her. Probably affects humans, too," added Eric. "To answer your unspoken question, I'm not under her spell, Pamela,"

If she could have flushed, she probably would have. He wasn't upset, however; he understood his progeny's concern, that Sasha might be manipulating him the same way she'd played Bill. Hell, not too long ago, he'd wondered the same thing about her.

"You care about her," Pam said flatly. "As a person. Not an investment."

Eric contemplated this. To say he cared for the girl carried a connotation Eric didn't like; his mind flashed briefly to the Fellowship of the Sun. He actively did not think of Dallas, but Pam's question had triggered a memory. Sookie Stackhouse had remarked that he loved his Maker; he'd answered he didn't understand the word.

Eric had lied. Eric understood love very well; he just didn't think it existed. Love was a human fancy, a label they held in utmost regard. But it was a myth he thought, a word they used for convenience, to label and outline things, to create the boundaries they were so fond of. But all that existed were bonds, bonds of blood and the bonds that they chose to create for themselves. No bond whatsoever could hope to replicate that between vampire and progeny, and never in the way Eric especially had for his Maker. It was silly to equate that to the human notion of "love".

Godric had come believe in love, sometime in his second millennia. Pam was not, of course, asking if he was in love with Sasha Buckley. But she was trying to gauge his level of investment in the girl, and Eric wasn't sure how to explain himself to her, mostly because he wasn't sure himself. He'd yet to pinpoint exactly what about Sasha inspired his close attention other than the fact that she was intriguing.

And yet, it seemed silly to deny something as trivial as caring for the girl. He concerned himself with her more than he did with most beings, going beyond her general safety. He preferred her content, and he got some sort of second-hand satisfaction when she was in high spirits, particularly when he was the reason for it. Eric knew that wasn't because of their blood bond; they'd only exchanged his blood, and once at that; it was stronger for her than it was for him in most ways. But he also had a very clear idea of where she ranked on his list of priorities.

 _Priorities. Ah._

Another memory. He and Pam in France some thirty years ago. The Yakuza forcing him to choose between his Progeny and the human girl. Sylvie; yes that had been her name. He'd offered his own life up—without intent of honoring his proposal, of course. But he'd needed an opening to get the silver blade away from Pam's throat. A distraction, hesitation. He had done the very thing to buy Godric's time in Dallas, when he'd offered his life in exchange for Sookie's. But what had happened in France that had not in Texas was Pam—he still remembered her fear, so strongly it left the bitter taste of dead blood in his mouth.

His progeny had been terrified. She hadn't been afraid to die. She'd been afraid he'd choose the human girl over her. As though such a thing could happen.

Yet, here and now, Eric thought that maybe that same worry had wormed its way into his progeny's head. Her dislike of Sasha might have had a little less with his personal safety, and just a little bit more with the kind of jealousy only a progeny could feel. She would never, of course, admit that to him.

He shut off that bond he felt with Sasha just enough to be able to ignore her feelings.

" _Pamela_ ," he said, enunciating every syllabus of her name with all the adoration he could muster. He closed the distance between them, grasping her face in his hands. "I will always choose you. Always,"

Her eyes because a little glassy, a blood tear escaping her left eye. He kissed it away, brushing his tongue up her cheek. Pam's eyes slid shut, and she leaned into him, waiting.

"Eric, I _am_ sorry," she said quietly. "If I'd known how angry you'd be with me, I wouldn't have done it,"

He knew she was referring to Sasha and the newborn. Eric had moved on since; she'd agreed to wear Sasha's charmed amulet-ring necklace, and for Eric that had been that. He didn't hold grudges against his progeny. But it appeared that the matter—or rather, Eric's anger towards her—still weighed heavily on her mind.

Eric had had more than an excellent Maker in Godric. He could only hope to be half of that to Pam. But sometimes Eric forgot that he already was all that and more to Pam, that he always had been. He underestimated just how much she revered him, and it humbled him every time.

Cupping the back of her neck, he pulled her into a kiss. She followed eagerly, and when he reached up to the zipper to her dress, she didn't push his hands away. She leaned into his touch.

Pam did not stick around for naked, post-coital cuddles on the couch. This was no surprising. She was rarely touchy-feely in her affection—even for him—and never after sex. Pam was a lot like a cat; when she wanted affection she would coyly let him know. But then it was always only on her terms, and for brief periods of time before the claws were out.

She spared him a rare, genuine smile, the type that softened her features and gave her a human sort of youth, then she was dressed and back to work. Eric was still reclined lazily on the couch, having gotten about as far as slipping his pants on. He was a little more tired than he cared to admit, if only because he'd been up all day.

It hadn't been by choice, at least not entirely. Sasha Buckley had occupied his every single thought when he should have been in his dead sleep.

 _Infuriating_ ; that had been what he'd called her the night before. And the word had held up. He couldn't understand how a human that trusted him so thoroughly with her life and with the knowledge of her secret remained so guarded around him. She was a constant contradiction, drawing him in, revealing herself in ways that made her vulnerable, and then shutting him out just when he began to feel invested. Even he was starting to get whip-lash, because it all just didn't compute in his head.

She wanted him. He knew that, he _felt_ that. When he'd kissed her last night, overcome by need and desire and appreciation for what she'd done for him, he had made his intensions clear. Sasha read him well, and she'd known he was about to kiss her. She hadn't moved away, hadn't spoken out against him doing so—and when he'd kissed her, she'd kissed back, matching his own enthusiasm. She'd been just as hungry for his kiss as he'd been for hers. That hadn't made her angry, that hadn't made her pull away. So what had?

Eric thought back, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that her emotions had shifted. It had been just before she'd blocked their bond—he still didn't like that she could do that—and he thought hard about what had been said, what he'd inadvertently done or said to spark the reaction.

He'd kissed her. She'd started another fire. Small, but no less dangerous, though in retrospect he probably hadn't taken the threat as seriously as he should have. Had it been because he'd suggested wanting to take her home and thoroughly ravage her? That didn't sound like her to get so upset over, not it had been something else…

He'd thanked her. He'd thanked her for saving his life, and for working with Pam to do it. Now that he thought about it, the way her eyes had widened, the way her body had practically seized up when he'd laid a kiss to her knuckles, Eric knew _that_ was _it_. That was the moment in which he'd stopped feeling her emotions, the moment she'd started backtracking, pulling out bullshit like his having the _upper hand_. Maybe he'd been foolish to think she'd accepted being his so easily—clearly she wasn't quite so adjusted to the notion as he'd assumed.

Eric realized now that more than just infuriated, he'd been—still was—disappointed by her reaction. He couldn't understand why, given everything they'd been through since they'd met, everything he'd done, she was so reluctant to let him near. She had a guard up, and he couldn't figure out what he'd done to deserve that space.

And _fuck_ if he didn't suddenly hate that word. Space; void; distance.

She'd realized it, on some level. Because she'd told him about the vampire Marco Vizzi.

Eric had met Marco Vizzi before. He hadn't liked the Italian vampire three hundred years ago, and he thought even less of him now. He'd found him annoying and slimy then; his protective instincts over his witch only strengthened the dislike now.

Speaking of— _what the fuck_ had Jakande been thinking, bringing in a child essentially as bait? What, because Sasha had asked to learn about vampire politics, that had given him free reign to expose her to the ugliness of his kind? How fucked up had that been? He couldn't understand Sasha's hero-worship of the vampire, not when the more he heard the more intense his dislike for him grew. As did his distrust.

Realizing he'd been shutting Sasha out for over an hour, Eric reopened their bond. With how volatile the mixture of her powers and emotions were, he was paying special attention to her emotions now.

But as he reopened the bond, Eric was nearly floored. A wave of absolute misery assaulted him, and it was so strong he wondered what could have possibly transpired in the last hour to send her spiraling. He was quickly dressed and out door.

He had to find his witch before half of Bon Temps was burned to ashes.

Jason Stackhouse turned out to be a damn good listener. He interrupted at the right parts, to express his surprise or agreement, to mirror her anger or regrets. After she'd cried out he'd grabbed them beers, and they were cuddled up on his squishy suede couch, talking.

"…I guess…you ever realize that you're too close to someone sometimes, and you don't see them for what they really are? And even though you still care about them…you realize that maybe they're not as perfect as you thought?" asked Sasha, her voice soft.

"I think I know what you mean," said Jason. She lifted her head off his shoulder to look up at him. He didn't meet her gaze head on. Instead he stared at a stain on the carpet by his sneaker.

"Growin' up…I was always the favorite. Only my Gran favored Sookie," began Jason. "It wasn't that she didn't love me or nothin', she just… she was one of the only, she was the _only_ person that accepted Sookie like she was no questions asked. My sister, she wasn' every normal, see,"

"I know," said Sasha, smiling softly at him. "I know about your sister,"

Jason looked relieved; maybe because he didn't have to explain something he didn't understand, or maybe because she simply wasn't asking about it.

"So yeah. Sookie bein'…bein' different an' all, kids always liked pickin' on her. But it wasn' just the kids—all of Bon Temps knew she was different, and they didn' like it. An' I mean, I can't blame 'em completely. This was before vampire 'n it's not…"

His accent was becoming thicker with his distress. He looked up at Sasha almost desperately, like he was begging her not to judge him. "I kinda did to, ya'know? She was always ma little sister 'n all, but… it drives ya crazy sometimes, someone always bein' up in yer head like that,' But it wasn' until I grew up that I realized how much she musta suffered,"

"I always idolized our parents," explained Jason. "They were the perfect parents. But lookin' back, I realized that they weren't. I mean, I think all kids realize that about their parents, 'ts a parta life. But there were these things I always just…always just kinda overlooked, because they weren' like that with me. Like they'd—I remember, once, my ma thought my dad was cheatin' on her. So she asked Sook to look through his head. How fucked up is that? She couldna been older than ten. He wasn' but still. And then there was my Uncle, Gran's brother—" Jason stopped, sucking in a deep breath. Sasha watched him sadly, rubbing his shoulder soothingly.

"So I guess what I'm tryna say here is, I get what it's like to see someone you love without the rose-tinted glasses," said Jason. "I don't wanna remember a lie. But my parents are dead, an' I don't wanna think ill of 'em, neither. So I just gotta love 'em with their faults, because I can't confront them about it. But if I could, I would,"

She understood the logic of this. A similar logic had been plaguing her since she'd last spoken to Malachi; the way he had spoken to her had concerned her, and she didn't want to lose sight of that amidst all the other stuff that was happening around her. But there was a part of her that was scared to push him for answers. She was afraid of finding something she didn't like, and with the mess she found herself in, she didn't think she could cope well with it now. So she kept pushing that thought down.

"So what 'bout you?" asked Jason, placing his hand over hers and giving it a squeeze. "What's got you up at night these days?"

What didn't?

"I guess I just…" Sasha shrugged, playing with Jason's fingers. Human fingers; so warm, so callused, so very different form the hands of men she'd known most of her life, different from her own because they were male. She spread out Jason's hand, palm up, and closed hers over it, splaying her fingers out over his. He had thick, fingers, strong lined with scars and ridges that told of his career in construction. She turned her palm just a little, letting her fingers fall between the crevices of his. They were an awkward fit.

"… I guess I always…I just don't have the best track record with men," she finally said. "I'm sure a psychologist would have a field day with me, of course,"

"'Cause you pick the ones?" asked Jason, reaching his hand to push her hair out of her face. "The Eric Northman types?"

Sasha frowned. "No…Eric, Eric's actually one of the best guys I've ever met," _At least, I hope he is_.

"That's fucked up, Sasha," said Jason. Her frown deepened.

"Fine, in _my_ experience," said Sasha. "I don't know him like you do, or like anyone else does around here. But I don't think you all know him like _I_ do, either. He's also the reason why I still have a pulse, so I'm kind of a fan of the guy,"

"It's the vamp sex, ain't it? I've seen it,"

Sasha's eyes widened, and she peeled herself off of his shoulder.

"God, I haven't slept with the guy, okay? My relationship with Eric has nothing to do with, with sex or, or romance or anything of the sort. That's half of why I trust him so much," said Sasha, and it was as she said it that it really dawned on her. "Eric's never tried to push me into his bed. I've never felt like he was humoring me just so he could get into my—"

Jason's mouth was hot when it landed so unexpectedly on hers, and he tasted like beer and loneliness and a tinge of self-hatred. She pawed at his chest to get him off—he mistook that for her pulling him closer, and he pressed his body harder against her, hands roaming—

She head-putted him in the nose.

He sprang back, holding his nose up as a stream of blood gushed down, painting the front of his white tank. Sasha scrambled to the opposite side of the couch, breathing hard and fast as tears began to slip down her cheeks.

"What the fuck, Jason?"  
He looked genuinely confused—confused and pained. "'M sorry, Sash. I think—guess I misread the moment,"

"Misread the moment?" she repeated, jumping up to her feet. She was hurt and confused—wondering how the night had dissolved from sharing a beer and getting things off her chest with a friend had become to her maiming him for trying to kiss her. What had he been thinking? What had _she_ been thinking.

Shaking her head as more angry tears fell, she quickly jammed her feet into her boots, shaking her head and mumbling curses to herself. " _So fucking stupid_ ," she told herself.

"Oh, come on—don't leave. I'm sorry. You were sendin' mixed signals, touchin' up on me and all," defended Jason, red in the face from more than just blood. He was embarrassed, but Sasha couldn't find it within herself to care in that moment.

She looked up at him, stricken from a mixture of disgust and anguish. "Ever heard of seeking comfort in a _friend_ , Jason? God I'm so stupid—how could I have thought that me telling you how very little trust I have in men because all they ever want from me is sex was leading you on?"

"Shit, Sash, come on I didn't mean to—" Jason said helplessly, looking at her.

"Is that why you invited me over? Thought you'd play knight in shining armor, act all nice, all so you could fuck me? Sounds about fucking typical,"

"No, Sash, you got it all twisted around," said Jason. "Can't we just forget this happened? We can just—I'll lock myself up in m'room until mornin'. I swear I won't make 'nother move,"

She snorted. "I'm leaving,"

It was as he glided into Bon Temps that caught onto a scent familiar to him. Decidedly vampire… Eric frowned, doubling back and tracking the scent. It brought him to the burned down remains of the bungalow, to Montgomery House, to the Compton House. To Jason Stackhouse's place. Jason's had been the last place that he'd pinpointed Sasha's location before he left Fangtasia.

Fuck.

Someone was following around his witch. And not just anyone—a vampire. Could it be one of Compton's vampires?

He still couldn't place the scent. He searched the property around Jason's house, but there was no sign of a vampire. Eric was suddenly mollified that she'd chosen the idiot boy's company; that way at least a vampire couldn't just walk into the house. He searched for her in the house…but he only turned up a single heartbeat. Jason Stackhouse's. He closed his eyes and focused; she was still nearby, headed East.

He knocked on his door quickly, nose twitching at the scent of blood. Jason's blood didn't carry the same scent nor the same otherness as Sookie's, but it was just a little sweeter than average, just a little more intoxicating. Currently, it was coming out of his nose, staunched by a balled up cotton tank. He stood shirtless, glaring at him.

"Where is she?" Eric demanded without introduction. Jason looked around guiltily.

"She left,"

"She left? It's midnight,"

"Yeah, well," shrugged Jason. "She's probably on her way back to the motel,"

"And you thought it was a good idea to let the girl walk there alone?" asked Eric sharply. "You of all people should know this town isn't safe,"

"Yeah, well, I'm probably the last person she wants to see right now," said Jason.

Eric's eyes narrowed suspiciously. He looked pointedly at Jason's broken nose. "Did she give you that?"

"Yeah. Fuckin' deserved it, though," admitted Jason. "I shoulda kissed her,"

It was a good thing that Jason Stackhouse hadn't stepped outside of his doorframe, or else he would have ended up with a broken neck. Eric's mood turned murderous, connecting the dots between Sasha's current misery and the clearly unwanted advanced.

"You tried to force yourself on her? Is that it?" hissed Eric.

"No! It wasn' like that!" Jason said in alarm. "I just—it was just a kiss. A mistake. I thought maybe—fuck, I don' know,"

Eric found her stomping angrily down the road. He fell into step with her, startling her something fierce when he did.

"Jesus _Christ,_ Eric," she exclaimed. She resumed her gait, hands shoved into the pockets of her coat.

"And where are you going, this fine evening? Just thought you'd walk around until something snatched you up?" He was still seething somewhat, angry in a way that he had not expected. He could smell Stackhouse on her, just a trace of him, and his first instinct was to kiss her, hard, and not let go until she carried his scent. Somehow it wasn't enough that she carried a trace of it in her blood; he wanted it on her skin, too, wanted the taste of him on her tongue.

 _Fucking blood bond with a witch; has to be that much more complicated, doesn't it?_ He lamented to himself. He reigned in the urge to kiss her, her distress stifling his possessive urges.

 **"** Something like that," she said dryly. "Guess you can feel my emotions again,"

His presence had eased her somewhat; whether because it was him, or because she was no longer walking the dark road alone he wasn't sure. He hoped to lighten her mood further, to steer her further along from any fire-setting emotions.

"Mm. You know, you've yet to break _my_ nose for kissing you," he observed wryly.

She glanced his way, a dangerous look in her eyes. He forced himself not to smile in response. "I'll do worse if you so much as try it right now, Eric,"

Her threat, he thought, she meant.

"Wasn't planning on it," he told her coolly. "You're upset."

Sasha paused again, boots planted to the ground. She stared at him wordlessly, absolutely helplessly. He was right—she was upset and Eric didn't go around trying to kiss her or feel her up when she was emotionally vulnerable. That was her thing, throwing herself at him when she was all fucked up inside, like she was now. She could feel the urge to just give into him and not think for an hour or four growing inside of her just looking at him.

But she didn't want that, not really. Not with Eric that kissed her when she said something smart or did something brave. Eric who wanted her when she was witty and tough. Eric who held her when she didn't feel like any of those things, who _only_ held her when she was those things.

"What do you want from me?" asked Sasha. Eric observed her carefully.

"I thought that much was obvious," he murmured.

"Don't, don't do that. Please not now. Don't downplay how you are, not unless you really mean it,"

Eric sighed, running his hand through his hair.

"Now isn't really the time, Sasha. Nor the place,"

But her arms folded resolutely against her chest, and she stared at him expectantly. "I disagree. Because I'm kind of going crazy here. Everything is just…everything is just spinning out of control around me, and I'd feel a lot more grounded if I could just know what this is between us,"

Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, _Eric_ was the one feeling panicked, like he was being asked to label and specify something he didn't quite understand himself. She was always brushing off his every advance; he was now at a loss as to how to answer her so readily acknowledging that there was something between them.

Sasha ready his silence easily. "Relax. I'm not asking you to tell me you're in love with me and when I can expect a ring on my finger. I'm not…I know you want me, and that doesn't…it doesn't bother me. Or scare me," said Sasha. "What scares me is that I don't _think_ you're like men I've met before. I think that you do care about me, what happens to me. You wouldn't be here right now if you didn't,"

"Sasha—"

"Please just let me finish," she said with a tight smile. "This is hard enough for me as it is,"

His jaw wired shut, and for once he had no idea how to read her, what to expect from her. Even if she often took him by surprise—this wasn't the fun, exciting way he'd known until now. This was terrifying, because he was almost certain they were headed somewhere neither of them wanted to find themselves.

It wouldn't be fun anymore.

"I trust you with my life. And with my secret," she said. "And sometimes I think I could trust you with more. I'm not stupid, Eric, and I don't like being made to feel like I am. I don't want to wake up someday and realize that I put my trust in someone that was only making me feel a certain way, treating me a certain way, all so that they could control me, use me, profit off of me. Because coming from you…it would suck especially," she admitted.

"You're a vampire. You're a thousand years old. And when I start to think I know you, I worry that I'm being silly and presumptions. Because sometimes in the back of my head I wonder if this isn't all a game to you, because you get bored and the years drag on and you have to do _something_ to pass the time. I've seen it without other vampires that weren't half as…the way you are with me, sometimes you're just a little too good to be true,"

She paused for a moment, staring down at her hands. "It's been brought to my attention that I am a very angry person on the inside. I didn't really want to believe that was true, but… but I am angry. I'm angry that my human family basically abandoned me, and I'm angry that no matter what, I'm not really like my vampire family. I'm _not_ a vampire, and I can't just move on from the disappointments of my childhood like I like to pretend I have. And it's fucked me up so much more than I ever realized. So,"

She took in a deep breath. " _So_ , whatever it is you're doing or feeling…I'm _yours_ , Eric. You and I have an agreement and I will honor that. You know I will. Just like I know I can rely on you to uphold your end. But please don't yank me around because you want to fuck me, because I'd make a particularly exciting notch on your bedpost,"

The vulnerability in her eyes and voice hit him like a wall, but there was no denying that there was a strength there too, a strength she drew on to put herself first, to protect herself. And Eric wasn't quite sure how to respond. He wasn't like Bill; he knew Bill had immediately seen a future in Sookie. He'd heard them both talk about Vermont passing a law allowing vampires and humans to wed. And he wasn't like other vampires that 'fell in love' and knew they wanted to turn their human and keep them bound forever. Eric didn't think like that—he thought in terms of what pleased and pleasured him in the moment.

And currently, he thought that might be Sasha. There was still so much to discover about her, he thought they could entertain each other for sometime, stimulating each other sexually and mentally. The thought had occurred to him more than once, because it was rare that he found a being that meshed with him so well, one that _he_ in turn tolerated for extended periods of time.

But he'd never stopped to factor in her insecurity. Then again, he'd never before realized this insecurity of hers, nor how deeply it ran. He'd known she'd had some issues—impossible not to with a background like hers. But he'd been blind of her inherent mistrust of men, of letting people close and, he realized, so had she.

"How quaint,"

Both Eric and Sasha's attention snapped to their left, to the tree line beyond the road. Eric immediately stepped forward, placing himself between Sasha and the emerging vampire.

How had he not placed that scent?

"Evening, Meredith," he said lazily, though he was incredibly tense. "Little far from home, aren't we?"

"A little," said the redhead, slinking towards them. She stopped when the heels of her boots struck the concrete of the road. Eric felt Sasha's hand twisted into the fabric of his coat; she had a bad feeling, and he shared it with her.

Like a panther stalking prey, Meredith paced slowly in front of them, studying them both before attacking.

"That was a sweet little exchange—I'd say I'm sorry for interrupting, but I couldn't help myself. It was fucking revolting,"

"Lofty words for a vampire so young and so out of her Area," bit out Eric. "Tell me, does your Maker know you're here? Is she having you follow my—"

"Your witch?" supplied Meredith. Sasha's breath hitched. Eric went unnaturally still.

"Like you said, I followed her around. And I saw you outside of Compton's place last night—saw the little fire someone started when she couldn't keep it in her pants," said Meredith. "Speaking of being followed—you wouldn't happen to know why _my_ Maker is being followed around all of a sudden by Compton's goons, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't," said Eric, tracking her every movement.

"So it's coincidence that you were seen arrested by Compton—rumor has it for treason—and that mere hours after your miraculous freedom Catherine is plagued by Compton's spies?"

"Seems that way,"

"Eric," whispered Sasha. She didn't think it was best to taunt the vampire that looked like a jungle cat eyeing a canary, the vampire that now knew what she was.

"Shut up, witch," snapped Meredith. Her icy glare switched Eric. "All the love my Maker has for you, and you betrayed her. As if this little witch-slut wasn't insult enough—admit that you sold out my Maker,"

"He didn't," said Sasha. The sinking feeling in her gut had hit rock-bottom, and she suddenly understood what was going on. She tried to move from around Eric to better argue with the vampire, but Eric's arm came back to shove her into place. She settled for yelling over his shoulder. "Eric didn't have to sell out your Maker—rumors had already reached Compton about your stupid little uprising!"

"What?" hissed Eric.

"I remember now," went on Sasha, calling out from behind Eric's arm. "I remember how she talked about Bill—Catherine doesn't respect Bill at all! She couldn't understand how he'd become King, but we all know the sick little obsession she has with Eric—of course she's behind it!"

"Is this true?" asked Eric. "I suspected, but I'd hoped otherwise. It was foolish of her,"

"You never appreciated her," hissed Meredith. Her cool mask was cracking, showing the viciously angry vampire beneath. "She worshipped you and you never gave a damn about her. And _me_ — _I_ loved her more than anything, always, and I still couldn't compare to you, could I? She deserved so much more than what she got—in the end you're just as bad as her Maker was!"

"Don't fucking compare him to that monster!" screeched Sasha.

That was her mistake. Meredith went still, eyes practically turning black as her fangs popped out. " _You told_ _her_?" she screeched.

Meredith lunged. At first Sasha thought she'd lost it from her fury—she couldn't hope to get to her with Eric in the way—but Meredith was more calculated through her rage than Sasha gave her credit for.

Even Eric only realized it a split second before her. He twisted to have his back to Meredith, drawing Sasha into him quickly. She saw why—something had sprung up them from behind. She screamed—the world was a dark blur for a moment as Eric spun them away twenty yards up the road.

"Don't run," he managed to tell her. Then he was a blur of movement meeting a second blur of movement—Meredith, judging from the stream of red ribbon-like hair. Sasha gasped at the sound of the two vampires clashing against one another.

Meredith might have been significantly younger than Eric, but she was fast. She fought like a viper, striking with deadly precision, and if they'd been matched in age, Sasha would have been more worried about the outcome of the fight. As it were, she was more worried about the fact that there was something _else_ stalking them on the road that night.

It came bounding up the road a moment later, following the sounds of the fight.

"You've got to be shitting me," she whispered, the words falling out in a flit of horrorstruck exasperation. A black panther was bounding towards her fast, snarling loudly. But in the moonlight she saw that it was nothing like the pictures of the beautiful wild animals she was familiar with. This one was mangy and dirty, with patches of missing fur and a scarred body, bones and sinew poking out where they shouldn't.

"No fear, no fear, no fear," she muttered to herself, trying to focus instead on one of the handful of spells she'd learned recently, one that would help with this. Something that _wasn't_ an uncontrollable fire. She could feel that at the base of her spine, building and crackling. _No_.

Eric caught the panther as it scampered past him, twisting away from Meredith long enough that he was able to grab the thing from the scruff of its neck and throw it headlong over his shoulder. It yelped as it hit the ground on its back.

Sasha was distracted from watching the fight between Eric and Meredith—she'd just raked her nails across his face—from movement out of the corner of her eyes.

Another panther.

 _No_ , thought Sasha. _A shifter_. She could sense that. She turned around to face it, understanding now why Eric had told her not to run. With her hands clenched into tight fists, she summoned her magic, ignoring the fire that whispered to her that it was _just there for the taking_ , and released a blast in the direction of the approaching were panther. Like that night with Jack so long ago in the cemetery, her magic released in a ball of purple. It struck the were-panther head on, knocking it back into a tree off the road. It whimpered as it struck the ground. She turned back to Eric, keeping half her attention on the wounded animal; its shoulder was out of place, knocked out of its socket.

Seeing this, the second were-panther ran after its companion, hovering over it protectively; Sasha knew they were out of the fight then.

Without the help of her distraction, Meredith was quickly outmatched. Eric realized that Sasha was temporarily safe, and he quickly forced Meredith to her knees before him on the pavement, a hand wrapped around her throat.

"And yet somehow," said Eric, glaring down at the redheaded vampire. "So many vampires insist that insanity is not a trait passed on in the blood. You are one psychotic bitch, you know that?"

"Fuck. You." Growled Meredith. Eric ignored her.

"Who else knows?"

"What did she ever see in you?" spat Meredith. "You don't give a damn about the throne, do you? Only about yourself and getting your dick wet. _Men_ ," she scoffed derisively. "There are more than you'd think—though now I wonder why so many would readily follow you,"

Eric made an impatient sound; Meredith screamed and Sasha yelped in horror. Eric had just reached down to Meredith's thigh, digging a thumb through her black pants and into her flesh, right into her femoral artery. It wouldn't kill her like it would a human, but it would certainly hurt like a bitch.

"I don't care about your uprising. Who else knows about Sasha?" Eric asked deceptively calmly.

"Go to hell,"

"Let me help you out," said Eric. "Does your Maker know?"

At that, Meredith's eyes became frantically wide and she shook her head desperately. "No— _please_ —she's doesn't know! I hadn't told her yet!"

"I don't believe you," said Eric. "Why were you watching her?"

"Catherine had me watch you. She wanted to know when the right time would be to tell you all she'd done—all the support she'd gathered for you. But she worried you'd become distracted…" her eyes flicked to Sasha. "I thought if I took away your distraction, you'd be pliable to us. And she'd be happy. But then…"

"But then you found out that she was a witch and thought I'd betrayed your Maker to Compton," filled in Eric. "So you thought you'd inconvenience me by attacking my witch,"

Eric glanced over his shoulder at Sasha. She was staring at the vampire before him with a mix of revulsion and pity.

"I hope you weren't banking on more jewelry," he told her. "You might want to stand back,"

The way her eyes widened told Eric she understood what he was about to do. But she hesitated. Meredith had also caught on.

" _No_ ," she spat, struggling to get out of his grasp. But Eric didn't even budge.

"Eric, please don't do this for me," Sasha called out to him. At first he thought she was asking him to spare Meredith's life; he quickly realized that she was saying something very different. She was asking that if he had to do it, that he didn't do it _for_ her.

"Look away, Sasha," he told her, grasping onto Meredith's head on either side, ignoring the vampire's threats and curses and pleas.

Sasha bit her lip when it trembled, then turned away.

She doubted she'd ever forget the sound. She didn't have to be looking to understand that Eric had literally ripped off Meredith's head. When she did look at Eric again, it was because he was moving to the were-panthers. The smaller of the two growled menacingly at Eric, but it didn't move away from the other; Sasha thought it might have been its mate.

"What to do with you?" asked Eric, nose twitching. "Fucking junkies,"

The were-panthers both growled at him.

"Shift back now," said Eric. "And I will spare your lives,"

She was surprised when the panthers did as he said, shifting into human form. She found herself staring at two naked rednecks, looking as banged up as their shifter counterparts had. The girl, blonde, was crying, clutching at her wounded shoulder.

"Why were you with that vampire?" asked Eric.

"Fuck you, fanger," snarled the man.

"S-She came up to Hotshot," said the girl. "Offered us blood for a job,"

"And of course you accepted it," said Eric. "Typical,"

"Fuck off, dead man. Weren't you pushin' that shit just yesterday?"

" _What_?" whispered Sasha. Eric glanced back at her with what she could only describe as regret.

"I'll explain later," he told her. She looked away from him, feeling sick to her stomach. But she saw his face twist, almost pained as he read the emotion.

"Sasha—"

"Just, just glamor them. You don't have to kill them," she said, moving away from him. He cursed under his breath, then quickly glamored fake stories into the brains of the two weres. Then he sent them scrambling off.

"We should get off the road," said Eric. "Come,"

"You were dealing V?" she asked him.

"It's not what you think," said Eric, reaching for her. She shied away from his hand.

"It's either true or not, Eric," she told him. "So which is it?"

"It's true," admitted Eric reluctantly.

" _God_ , Eric," she said, turning away from him. She looked back at him. "Are you still?"

"Of course not,"

"Of course not," she mocked. "Don't say that like _I'm_ the one that's out of line here."

He ran a hand over his mouth. Then he moved forward. He didn't try to touch her this time. "I promise you, when we take care of _this_ more immediate problem, you and I will sit down and talk about it, all right?"

"Fine,"

"You'll have my undivided attention and we'll talk about everything," he said, giving her a meaningful look.

She scoffed, turning away from him again. Like she wanted to revisit that conversation anytime soon. All of a sudden, Sasha was glad Meredith had interrupted.

Eric caught her hand, making her turn back towards him. "It wasn't my choice,"

She considered him for a moment—she had the sense, staring into his eyes, that it was very important to him that she understood that now rather than later. She pulled out of his grasp.

"You said we'll talk about it later, so later," she told him. "Now what? There's no way that Catherine doesn't know,"

At that, Eric flinched, like it had suddenly dawned on him that Meredith's Maker had no doubt felt her progeny's death. He swore in Swedish, and she watched him wearily as he placed. She hugged herself, cold in the midnight chill. If Catherine had known that Meredith was tailing her, what were the odds that she wouldn't blame Sasha?

"Fucking hell," she muttered to herself. It was all getting so convoluted.

"Compton. He should be the first to know—and from me," said Eric. She was a little startled to find he wasn't just talking to himself. He was talking to her. "We have to get behind this now, so we can control it. Bill might have let me go, but I doubt he trusts me fully. And now that we know that Catherine is behind the uprising after all…" he trailed off, frowning. Then he held a hand out to her. "Come. We'll go now,"

She reluctantly moved closer to him, letting him wrap his arm around her. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, moving her face into his chest as Eric sped them away.

Catherine had known pain in her life—more than most, human or vampire. But _this_ , this was so much more, so much worse—this was sheer agony.

Meredith.

She was the only vampire she had ever made, and so she had never experienced such a thing before. But Catherine was absolutely certain; horribly sure of what had just happened.

Her progeny was dead.

She fell to her knees sobbing, clutching at a heart that hadn't beat in centuries, wondering _how_ —

— _who_.

Steadily, Catherine rose to her knees. Meredith deserved more than her tears—she deserved her rage. She deserved revenge.

Catherine strode to her vanity. She carefully cleaned her face up of all the blood and runny makeup. She fixed herself up, then dressed plainly in one of the last outfits her progeny had gifted to her. As she primed and primped, she carefully considered the situation.

Meredith had told her she'd be personally overseeing some of the spying she was having done, namely on Eric's girl. That's what she'd been doing tonight; she'd been convinced, after having seen Eric arrested and then freed from the King's mansion, that Eric had sold her out. Catherine had told her it was impossible, that Eric didn't even know what she was doing.

They'd fought about it; Catherine withheld a sob as she realized the last words she'd had with her progeny had been an argument.

That was where she'd start; with the girl.

 _She's killed our kind before_. The thought was an unwelcome one, and Catherine quickly banished it with another: _Yes, but Meredith has always been a strong fighter. Not some moronic newborn. It couldn't have been the girl. And if it had…_

Not even her love for Eric Northman would keep her from tearing the girl to shreds, much less a stupid Claim.

To say that Bill Compton was surprised to see them so soon after he'd let Eric go was an understatement. Still, he waved the guards away and led him back into his office, eyeing Sasha and Eric with a mixture of curiosity and bewilderment.

The tension between the girl and the vampire was more than a little obvious.

"How can I help you two?"

"It is a…delicate matter that we're here to discuss," said Eric.

"There _is_ some sort of vampire uprising against you," said Sasha, quite matter-of-factly. Eric threw her a look, which she pointedly ignored.

"Tact, Sasha," said Eric.

"We're kind of passed that right now, aren't we?" she shot back, just as irritable.

"Can someone please fill me in on what's going on?"

And so Eric did. He quickly and succinctly explained what had gone on, though he left out the part about the weres. Sasha wasn't so sure why he'd done it, but she kept her mouth shut, answering only when spoken too.

"You shouldn't have killed her progeny, Eric," sighed Bill. "She could have had valuable information—names, most importantly,"

"I thought much the same. But other than what I told you, she'd had a Maker's Command in place to prevent her from exposing them too much," Eric lied so fluently, so smoothly Sasha almost believed him, and she'd been there to know otherwise. But he'd just lied to his king, and she felt a contradictory mix anger and gratitude at the fact.

She wondered if he'd ever lied to her that way.

Bill pondered this for a moment. "I appreciate you coming to me about this so quickly,"

He rose then, pausing to press a button by the intercom on his desk. "I will have Catherine brought in quietly, so as not to arouse the suspicion of those in league with her. My vampires have been collecting names of those suspected of treason already; I would like for you to lead them,"

"Me?" Eric asked in surprise. There was a knock on the door, and a familiar vampire entered. Nathan Chang. He waited patiently for his King's orders.

"Let no vampire in Louisiana doubt your loyalty to your King," said Bill. "It will stifle rumors and discourage future foolish coups,"

Eric look conflicted. His eyes landed on Sasha as he mulled it over.

"It is not a request, Eric," reminded Bill.

"I will do as you ask," said Eric. "But only after Catherine is captured. I have reason to believe she'll want to strike out against her in retribution,"

Bill considered this for a moment. "You can leave her here with my vampires, of course."

" _I'll_ be the one to watch her until this passes," said Eric. "Then I'll do as you please."

* * *

 **WOW. So i feel like i say this every time, but this is the longest chapter yet. It's like monstrous-like well over 14,000 words and twenty-four pages. HUGE THANK YOU TO THOSE THAT HAVE STUCK IT OUT THIS FAR. It's almost over, and I'm so thankful for all the reviews. They really make such a positive difference on my days!**

 **Liza:** Crazy Catherine is... well definitely plotting now, I should think. I still pity her a bit tho. Finding new ways for Sasha and Eric to grow close is so fun, but also nerve-wracking. I want to do them justice so you guys understand all i imagine for them!

 **Lucy:** Glad you think the slow burn is worth it, because it's definitely slowly burn. I'm actually just now realizing the irony of slow "burn" given Sasha. Lol Sash playing Bill like she did was a little unexpected for even me, but i liked it because it provided that emotional moment at the end for Sasha and Eric.


	23. Chapter 23

_Chapter 23: Friends and Foes, Part I_

Sasha waited patiently while Eric and Bill Compton argued biting into the inside of her cheek each time the urge to interrupt and demand she be able to go home (wherever the hell a bed was, anyway) surged too strong. But Bill couldn't understand why he wouldn't just leave Sasha with him, and Eric vehemently denied his every suggestion, even when Bill offered to host both Sasha and Pam under his protection.

"You won't trust your own progeny with her?" asked Bill, perplexed.

"This isn't about trust," snarled Eric. He was fed up with arguing; he wasn't budging, and Bill's constant badgering was simply a nuisance. Sasha was certain she understood his frustration. While Bill's mansion might have been one of the safest places for her, he didn't want to risk Sasha exposing what she was to the King or to one of his lackeys. She agreed; but being babysat by Pam was even less appealing, and she'd take Eric over any of them, even with how angry she as at him.

"I can shadow her, sir," said Nathan Chen, stepping forward. His eyes were fixed on his monarch as he spoke. Sasha nearly rolled her eyes; _Suck up_ , she thought. _Someone's trying to rise up through the ranks_. "I will protect her as though she were my own Claim,"

Eric's eyes flashed to the vampire, narrowing with startling animosity. "She is _mine_. Until the threat to _what is_ _mine_ has been dealt with, I'll stay put, Bill,"

Sasha stopped fidgeting in her seat, shooting a sidelong glance at Eric; even she was taken aback by his ferocity, and she realized that Eric was far more upset than she'd originally thought. This was Dangerous Eric, the thousand-year-old vampire that was simply cooperating with a far younger monarch out of a desire to avoid further conflict and nothing more. Nathan Chen, both wisely and bravely enough, merely dipped his head in deference, murmuring a quick apology as he stepped back into the shadows.

Bill looked exasperated—exasperated but not furious, and perhaps even a little bewildered by how adamant the Viking was about his terms. His eyes flitted to Sasha ever so often, nose flaring just a bit each time; she didn't think he noticed that part, but Sasha was almost certain that he was trying to figure her out. She was suddenly very glad to not only be under Eric's protection, but that he was so intent on staying at her side tonight.

"Very well," Bill said finally. "I will notify you of Catherine's capture. I don't imagine she will be able to evade us long,"

"Don't underestimate her, Bill," said Eric, rising to his feet. Sasha jumped up to her feet, relief flooding her. She couldn't wait to be gone. "Catherine is a lot of things, but she is more cunning than you might think,"

"Don't underestimate _me_ , Eric. I know what I am doing,"

Eric's jaw locked with the strain to keep himself controlled. He was getting antsy, Sasha could tell, the longer they were in Compton's office. "Then I suppose I will see you two soon,"

* * *

It was well past midnight by the time they arrived at Eric's apartment. Sasha's legs had fallen asleep during the flight, and between the pinpricks of icy needles in her legs and her exhaustion, her body was longing for Eric's bed. But her mind wasn't ready to go to bed, not while Catherine was somewhere out there, more than likely pinning the blame of her progeny's death on her.

Again the thought crossed her mind, of the unimaginable loss that the vampire-Sheriff was probably experiencing. Sasha would probably never know such pain, and though a part of her felt bad for her, there was a stronger part that feared for herself.

Coffee; she'd need a lot of coffee. But first a glass of water.

Sasha went into the kitchen, wondering if she might be able to score some coffee downstairs in the building lobby through the human staff when, as though she had summoned it, she found _it_. Shiny and quite obviously new, the coffee maker sat on the kitchen counter, gleaming invitingly beneath the fluorescent lights overhead. For a wild moment, Sasha thought she _had_ summoned the thing, somehow making her desire reality through magic. But she realized that was silly and probably impossible, and so she went over to inspect it. It even smelled new, that bitter plastic smell still lingering on it, without a trace of coffee.

Feeling eyes on her, she pivoted. Eric watched her, propped up against the wall by a shoulder, long legs crossed lazily.

"Coffee and mugs are in the cupboard above," said Eric, nodding at said cupboard. "I don't know much about coffee admittedly, but I think my day-man might have gone a little overboard,"

Opening the cupboard, she found he was right. Besides an assortment of ground coffee—the smell hit her and it was Nirvana—she found six different kinds of sugars, raw, white, and the fake stuff, a jar of honey, and a collection of syrups.

"It's like a fricken' Starbucks in here," she said, eyeing the syrups and powders. She picked up a small glass vial of cinnamon sugar, sniffing it cautiously. She wasn't one for intricate drinks; she just liked her coffee strong and black.

He looked a little bashful at that, and for a moment she hated that look, the way it was there one moment and gone the next, covered by his cool nonchalance. But it had been there long enough that it drew her in, softened the protective shell she tried so hard to maintain.

"Coffee seemed vital to your cooperation when you were high on my blood," said Eric, crossing to the fridge. He pulled out a decanter of blood, pouring himself a tall glass and then moving to the microwave. She ignored him, reaching up for a mug. Her hand landed on cool ceramic, and she pulled out a handsome mug of green and gold glaze. "And I didn't think you'd last long at that motel,"

She frowned at him for a moment, wanting to ask just why he thought that. But then she realized it didn't matter, because whatever he'd expected or not, here she was, back at his place.

Without preamble, Eric began, "Queen Sophie-Ann was massively in debt,"

She was glad to see that he was straight to the point, that he wasn't dawdling on the subject of the coffee, because she still wasn't sure what to make of it. Or rather, she knew what she _didn't_ want to make of it. "She was doing just about everything she could—everything she could have _other_ people do for her to get herself out of it. But, she wasn't too keen on toning down her lavish lifestyle. She had me push blood for her,"

Sasha wasn't a fool. She knew not all monarchs were like Malachi; wise and just, and with the good of their constituents in mind. But even Sophie-Ann's actions shocked her, and by the end of the explanation, she was left with a disgusting taste in her mouth. But Eric didn't stop there—he couldn't. The story became further convoluted with the appearance of another figure Russell Edgington. And Bill Compton…well, she was still trying to figure him out.

Malachi had always made it clear to her that he was her guardian until she turned eighteen, and if she chose to remain at his compound, that he would treat her more or less as one of his subjects. She was not his, and so beyond his kingly will, he did not control her or her actions. But he had once told her very clearly that, under no circumstances, was she to enter the state of Mississippi. Now Sasha knew why; apparently Russell Edgington was more than just the psychopath that killed news anchors on live television. He was the type of vampire that was a collector, collecting power and trinkets—trinkets like weres and other individuals with abilities he liked to harness.

Eric told her how Edgington planned to take Louisiana for himself by marrying Sophie-Ann, how he murdered the Magister in cold blood, how he was left to deal with the three-thousand year old vampire because the Authority blamed his involvement.

"Holy shit, Eric," she said, mussing up he curls. She'd wondered if she was the one complicating Eric's life with her troubles; it seemed he was more than capable than finding his own. But there was still something that didn't sit quite right with her as she mulled over his story. He'd glossed over one massive detail: why had Edgington gone after Eric in the first place? And so she asked.

When he answered, it was somewhat sourly, and she had the sense she was asking him exactly what he wished she wouldn't. "I killed his husband and progeny, Talbot," he confessed.

"Why?" asked Sasha. It didn't make any sense that Eric would endanger his life and Pam's—because he wouldn't, not unless absolutely necessary. There was more to this story than he was letting on…

"I was settling an old score," admitted Eric. "I'd unknowingly been hunting Edgington for centuries. When the opportunity arose…it was too good to pass. That's all I'll say on the subject. It's really none of your business, Sasha,"

It really wasn't. But it was in her nature to be curious, to make things puzzling or tangled at first glance her business, and she wasn't done yet. She recalled that, the first time she'd been in Compton's office, Eric had said…oh, what had he said?

"' _Given the rumors that say I killed Russell Edgington_ '," quoted Sasha.

"What?" asked Eric. She thought that, had his face been able to be drained of blood, it would have just then.

"That's what you said in the King's office," said Sasha. "So either you were choosing your words carefully because, like you just told me, the Authority wanted this completely off the books—which is strange because, as you also just told me, you worked with Compton on it. And if you were being choosey because I was there, well you just told me everything now, except..."

"Don't," warned Eric.

She did anyway.

"Is Russell Edgington dead, Eric?"

"Why can't you leave things that don't concern you alone?" Eric asked in frustration. "I've told you more than you need to know, because for some fucking reason I'm trying to reach you up _there_ on your high fucking horse. That's all you get on the subject, and if you don't like it, tough. I've been incredibly honest with you, and unless you'd like to change that, _leave it alone, Sasha_ ," he bit out.

Sasha hid her frown in her mug of coffee, trying to work out what Eric wasn't telling her, or why he'd lie in the first place. What kind of grudge could Eric have held onto for so long? She hadn't even thought of him as the type to harbor such things—Edgington had to be dead, right? The Authority wouldn't have let Eric live otherwise. And by the sounds of it, Eric wouldn't have wanted it any other way anyway. So what was she missing?

She carefully coiled up that little line questioning and set it aside for another day. But with that mystery out of the way, she was left thinking of the V.

"I can't believe you were dealing V," she muttered.

"You're angry with me," observed Eric. He sounded genuinely perplexed, and his forehead creased a little as he tried to figure out why.

"Angry? Yeah, a little. But mostly I'm disappointed," said Sasha, folding her arms across her chest. Eric flinched. "Do you know how destructive V and be? Especially to young people? God, Eric, what the hell were you thinking?"

"Calm down, Sasha," Eric said coolly, though there was some bite to his tone.

" _Don't_ tell me to calm down, Eric," she hissed. "I'm not going to burn your stupid apartment down. I can't believe you'd—"

"You can't believe that I, what?" asked Eric, suddenly leering over her. If she hadn't been clenching her mug so tightly, she might have dropped it in surprise. "Can't believe that I wouldn't give a damn about anything but following orders if it meant keeping myself and my progeny alive? That I don't give a damn about the V? Because I don't, Sasha. You say you're disappointed in me, but are you really? What the hell do you expect of me? That I care for _young people_? I think you're more upset that you can't reconcile your romanticized notion of me against what and who I really am,"

"This has nothing do to with me, Eric. It has everything to do with how you're a self-serving, egotistical jackass that was supplying people— _children_ —with drugs. You know V is the fastest growing drug on the market for teenagers? Half the runaways I was dealing with had tried the stuff at least once, and—"

"I told you," he ground out. "I didn't have a choice. And I will always choose the life of my progeny and myself over anyone else,"

 _You included_ , was the unsaid sentence. But Sasha had always known that, and that didn't bother her. But apparently it really bothered her that Eric didn't care, and he was right; what had she expected? Why did she care so much? But Eric wasn't done.

"But apparently, Miss Buckley, you have all the answers, little meddling witch that you are," he went on, tone dripping with sarcasm and eyes blazing. "Tell me, what would you have done, hm?"

Her hands curled tighter around her coffee mug. If she'd been any stronger, it would have shattered. "I would've stepped the fuck up, Eric. You're a thousand years old, you're a Sheriff. You ever think that your own desire to stay out of politics is your undoing? You're so adamant about not giving a damn about what goes on in the vampire world politically—well newsflash. You're one of the ancients here. Whether you like it or not, you'll always be perceived as a threat to someone. You either rise above that or you become someone else's pawn—Sophie-Ann's, Edgington's, Compton's,"

Eric's hand curled at his side for a moment, and Sasha thought he might actually strike her. Instead he laughed. The sound startled her, enough that she jumped some. He moved in closer, like he wanted to grab her face—then turned away, thinking better of touching such a fragile thing when he was so frustrated.

"You really do have all the answers, don't you? You'd have me what, be king?"

"No," said Sasha. "It's obvious you don't give a damn. Doesn't mean you can't step up,"

"You genuinely piss me off, you know that?"

"Because you know I'm right and that sucks to hear coming from a lowly, meddling witch?" she shot back.

"Lowly, meddling, _dishonest_ witch," said Eric. "I happened to remember that the last time we had a conversation about your powers, you told me you couldn't do much,"

"And it was true,"

"You burned a house to the ground and you had to institute a no-touching rule between us," said Eric, cocking a brow at her. "Something's changed,"

Maybe it was true; maybe Eric was more honest with her than she was with him. But she hadn't lied to him, not really—just withheld. When she told him as much, he smirked ruefully, loudly reminding himself derisively that she was, after all, raised by vampires.

"Are you done?" she asked, sick of watching him pacing the kitchen and cursing her vampire upbringing in a mix of English and old Swedish.

"Are you going to explain?" he shot back. His sarcasm was only instigating her annoyance and anger, but knew now was probably the time to come clean.

"Witches—witches like me anyway, we each have an Affinity. One of the elements resonates with us more than the others, and we can tap into it in a big way. Most commonly, it's Water and Earth. Sometimes Air. Fire's the rarest,"

"And, naturally, you're a Fire Affinity," drawled Eric. "Of fucking course you are. There's something terribly poetic in all that, I suppose. So what happened at the house? Sex dream of me gone a little too far?"

"You're actually not far off," said Sasha, a muscle in her jaw jumping. " _Thanks to your blood_ ," she thought it important to emphasize. "I was having something of a racy dream, but it got interrupted by Cookie. She dream-walked into my dream—she was pissed because I never contacted her after the newborn kidnapped me, and she hadn't heard from you either, but could feel I was alive…look, I was still asleep. I was dreaming. We got into a fight, and then I woke up to the house on fire around me. That was the first time I tapped into the Fire Affinity and _now_ —"

She broke off, feeling her eyes sting. Her anger at Eric was swallowed up by the return of her anxiety about her powers.

"And now?" asked Eric.

"And now it's always _there_ , bubbling, simmering under the surface," she whispered. She could feel it even now. She hadn't lied when she said she wouldn't burn his house down; she really didn't think she was in danger of that for some reason, but she could feel the heat spark and spiral in her blood with each fluxing emotion.

Eric delicately took her hand into hers, turning it over and inspecting it carefully. He traced a finger over her skin, following her artery in her wrist. "I wasn't sure if I should have mentioned—you're running a lot hotter than you did when we first met,"

"I am?" she asked worriedly. "God, it's like the fire's _in_ me or something. How are you so calm about this?"

"Because in the last hour we've gotten into a fight, I've pissed you off, disappointed you, I'd go so far as saying as repulsed you—I still do, I can feel it—and you've yet to set anything on fire. I will not beg for you to forgive me, but I am not going to add fuel to the fire by fearing you, Sasha," he told her. He let go of her hand, moving back to lean against the kitchen counter behind him. His eyes moved to the clock at the stove.

"There's still time before sunrise, if you'd like to go three for three on conversations neither of us really want to have," said Eric conversationally.

Ah; _that_ talk. She really didn't want to have that one now, especially not after what she'd learned about him. The V still really bothered her, though she wasn't sure what she was looking for from Eric. Of course he wasn't going to beg for her forgiveness—what the hell would that even mean to him? And it wasn't her place to forgive…

"You're right," said Sasha. "I don't want to have this talk right now,"

"It isn't my preference either," said Eric. "But you brought it up—"

"—and then we got _attacked_ —"

"If it were up to me," Eric said carefully. "You'd be mine,"

She huffed in annoyance. "I am—"

"No, you aren't," said Eric. His blue eyes swept over her quickly. "Not really, not in the way it counts. What we have is contractual. We negotiated—at the end of the day it's a business deal. You could walk out at any moment,"

"And you'd let me?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes," said Eric. "Even if you don't think I would."

She didn't like meeting his blue eyes right then. She turned away from him, moving to the living room for fresher air. She didn't stop until she reached the floor to ceiling windows. She peered out of the one-way glass to the twinkling city below, feeling the chill of the thick glass. Just as she hadn't been entirely sure what she'd been asking of him earlier in the night, she wasn't sure what she wanted of him now. It wasn't like she was in love with the guy; but the thought of having _someone_ to spend her nights with, to count on…it was appealing these days, when she felt her very foundation had become shaky. But for that someone to be Eric…that just sounded to unrealistic. Too impossible.

 _It's literally in the cards for us_ , thought Sasha. _Maybe something romantic, maybe not. But something's there,_ She thought back to the tarot cards she'd pulled. It seemed like a lot longer than a few weeks ago—but the worry gathered quickly. War. Ouroboros. The Lovers; painted with her and Eric's likeness. Maybe those cards had pointed to the mess they were now in; maybe it posed as a warning that if things were bad now, they could only get worse the closer they became.

"So you want…what?" she heard herself ask. It sounded faraway in her own ears, like someone else speaking for her.

"What we already have. In addition to blood and sex,"

"You mean you want me to be your kept human. Your concubine," said Sasha, turning to face him with an arched eyebrow.

"Yes," said Eric unabashedly. "You can call it what you will, but essentially, yes. I don't think you're unfamiliar with the practice,"

She wasn't, of course. Concubine wasn't really a flattering word for it, in her opinion, but they weren't exactly terrible vampire-human relationships. Occasionally they even led to more—to deeper, more meaningful commitments, but that was rare. Vampires were known for not being tied down, but it was common they they'd find a human that they genuinely enjoyed, enough that they'd want to keep them around for a year or two, for however long was fun. Those relationships tended to end when the human began to show signs of age or the vampire found a new subject that inspired their interest. She'd seen a few come and go over the years at the compound; only one of them was still around, and that was Danica. But Danica had been a vampire for years now, and she was mated to Theo.

"Does it really sound so terrible, being mine?" asked Eric.

"It sounds…fun," admitted Sasha. She could picture it all too easily; without the drama of meddling monarchs and the unpredictability of her powers, she _knew_ he would be fun. He'd always keep her entertained, satisfied, and maybe that could work for a little while but… "It wouldn't be fulfilling," said Sasha. Eric considered this, looking frustrated.

"I can't give you what you want, Sasha. Not really," he told her. "I am not the type of vampire that—I don't believe in love and soul mates and romantic fairytale endings. I won't mislead you there,"

"You're being presumptuous in thinking that's what I want from you," said Sasha. Then again, she barely knew what she wanted from him, either. She knew she couldn't expect to fall in love with him, for him to reciprocate, for them to skip off into the twilight together. The thought was vaguely horrifying, anyway. The cards aside—it just wasn't something she wanted. It seemed silly to even imagine such a thing—with him of all vampires, especially.

"I'm twenty-four," Sasha said carefully. "I…I don't know what's going to happen to me tomorrow, the day after, and certainly not in the years to come. But I know this: maybe I do decide to take up the offer of becoming vampire. It's a very, _very_ slim chance, but if it were to happen…it would be sometime in the next decade, most likely, if I chose it. But I don't know that. And if this is the only life I have, the only time I walk this Earth…then I want to be building towards something with someone,"

"I see,"

"You sound surprised," said Sasha, watching him. He even looked surprised, surprised and a little confused, like he hadn't really expected this outcome of the conversation.

"I admit, I didn't consider that this time in your life might be so…pivotal for you. I hadn't even considered you were thinking of your future in relation to…things humans want," he said. "I did not think those things mattered to you,"

Sasha shrugged. "It's not—I've never thought too much about it either, you're right. I never really thought too much about starting a family—things humans want, as you put it. Honestly, the idea of children freaks the fuck out of me still, and it's not really on my radar but there's been some stuff recently that's happened that has, yes, made me think of the future— _my_ future."  
"Nearly dying?" asked Eric.

Sasha gnawed on her lip for a moment, debating internally. "Okay, so admittedly… there's maybe a little more as to why I'm so hesitant to get any closer to you," said Sasha. "And why I've been thinking about the future,"

Eric sighed loudly, all but collapsing onto the nearest armchair. "More witchy things you've yet to share with me?"

"Something like that. I think I should probably just show you,"

Sasha had, thankfully, kept the deck of magical tarot cards at the Manor. When she'd last spoken to Cookie, she'd grabbed them, intending to try them again, to see if they'd changed at all for her, if maybe something less foreboding was in her future. She'd kept them in her car and grabbed them before heading off with Jason with the intent to cast them at his house, only she'd never gotten the chance.

Now, Sasha sat cross-legged at Eric's coffee table. He sat across from her, long lithe form settling across from her.

"You won't sleep with me because a deck of cards told you it was a bad idea?" he asked incredulously.

"I'm going to pretend you did not just say that," said Sasha, shuffling the cards—even though she knew it didn't matter. She was simply nervous to cast them once more. "You're a vampire and you don't believe in readings?"

"I believe in what I see," said Eric. "If it helps—I'm a Virgo,"

"That has nothing to do with this," said Sasha.

"Funny because," said Eric, giving her a sly look. "It just so happens that Virgo and Scorpio are highly compatible,"

She snorted in amusement, some of her nerves settling. "Cute, but I'm a Leo. My birthday's in—"

"November," said Eric.

"It is no—Right," It was such a strange thing—to think all her life she'd thought she'd been born one day, when she'd birthed in a completely different month. It was only a birthday in the grand scheme of things, but it was strange to think that the mug she had at home with the Leo sign really had no meaning for her, the Peridot birthstone necklace she'd been gifted a few years ago not really representative of her. She shook her head free of the thought.

"Okay, this is probably going to freak you out, so…you've been warned. Give me a chance to explain before you flip out,"

"Fine." He sounded more than skeptical—completely unimpressed.

"And remember, this is _my_ reading, not yours," she said. Eric sat quietly, patiently waiting for her to draw her first card. Sasha shut her eyes, delicately stroked the back of the first card, then flipped it. Though it was expected, her heart plummeted when she found War's blazing eyes glaring back at her again.

"War," read Eric. He looked intrigued by the car, eyes flitting up to her for an explanation.

"Whole lotta conflict in my future," she said. He rolled his eyes.

"Sweetheart, _I_ could have told you that," he mocked.

She flipped the next card.

"Ouroboros," said Sasha.

This time there was no smirk. Eric simply cocked his head to the side, studying the card with far more care than he had that War's. Actually, he looked…unsettled.

" _Jörmungdangr,_ " he said quietly. He reached for the card, then stopped. His eyes flicked up to her. "May I?"

She nodded, a little amazed that this was the card that tripped him up. Boy was he in for a shock when she flipped the next one.

"You called it ouroboros," muttered Eric. He sounded a little dazed, like he was only partly sitting in his living room with her, like his mind was somewhere lost in his long past. "Why?"  
"Ouroboros," said Sasha. "The snake-eating it's own tale. Endless creation and destruction—Cookie said it wasn't at all surprising that it was in my reading, since I'm constantly surrounded by vampires…it can be a symbol of immortals. But you called it something else,"  
" _Jörmungdangr,"_ Eric repeated. When his eyes returned to her, he seemed to waken up. He smiled at her, but it did not quite reach his eyes. "You've reminded me of an old tale of my people is all. I had not thought of it in quite some time,"

"Eric?"

"No matter," said Eric. "As you said—vampires, immortality. Go on,"

She wanted to ask him more about what he meant, but instead she flipped the next card. The last card.

"The Lovers," Eric read with a lofty smile. He was back to mocking the cards; but she knew the exact moment that he fully comprehended the card, because his eyes widened nearly comically, and he was suddenly bent low over the table.

"Impossible," said Eric. "How?"

He was _definitely_ shaken now.

"Yes, and it freaked me the fuck out, too. But you can't take it at face value," she added. "Cookie said that _'lovers'_ is kind of irrelevant in name. All it really means is that our fates are tied together or some bullshit. It can be intimacy, it can be a lot of things—it's probably pointing to your blood that's in my right now,"

Eric picked up the card, inspecting it even more carefully than he had the last.

"You believe me now?'

"We are unnaturally drawn to each other," conceded Eric. "You think there might be a supernatural reason for it?"

"Who knows?" said Sasha. She tucked her hair behind her ears. "The cards don't make things happen—they just show fragments of what a future is set to. And right now—as at the very least the last few weeks, this is it. I guess, well it's not too surprising. Between the blood, the conflict—it's been very me and you against the world,"

"But?" said Eric.

"But," she sat back against the couch, her fingers twisting at the carpet at her feet worriedly. "I just—the more I think about it, the weirder it is. Is it an accident that of all the people that could have driven past me that night on the road, that you're the one that did? That I found Jack that night in the cemetery—and that brought me straight back to you?"

She tapped the Lovers card. "I don't believe that the universe is conspiring to throw us together in some epic soul mate fairytale," said Sasha. "That's just fucking crazy. But," she reached for War with one hand, Ouroboros with the other, dragging them onto either side of the Lovers card. "But I do believe that there's _something_ brewing. And maybe there are no gods and maybe there are, but whatever there is that governs the fates of people like _us_ , then maybe…maybe it's pushing us together because we can help each other out,"

Eric was quiet for the rest of the evening, excusing himself to his study on the pretense of work. But Sasha knew that he was shaken by the cards and her perhaps outlandish theories, and that he was rethinking everything he had had said about wanting to make her his. She was glad for it, too; though she felt a small sting of rejection at how suddenly eager he was to put distance between them, she thought maybe this was the wake-up call he'd needed. Eric's mind had been on blood and companionship—something they both seemed to realize now they were lacking in their lives—but she had introduced something far more serious and scary.

Sasha shuffled the cards again, staring at their backs for a long moment. A part of her wanted to cast them once more for herself, to not stop at three. But Cookie had once told her that casting too many cards was dangerous because the cards became more vague, their meanings murkier, reaching farther then a more immediate future. She might pull death, and it could just as easily mean point to a looming, premature death, as to the death she'd experience at an old age.

She put the cards away, removing temptation from sight. She really didn't need the worry right now. The more cards she pulled, the more she might let them affect the way she lived.

While Eric was in his office pretending to work, Sasha made herself comfortable with a second cup of steaming coffee on his living room couch. She found the book she'd been reading last time—the one with a name she couldn't quite pronounce, but that was written in English about Viking sailing—and stuck to it.

She must have dozed off sometime after her third coffee. When she woke, she had a blanket draped over her, and Eric was staring at her, perched on the edge of his coffee table, knees nearly knocking into the edge of the couch.

"You should drink less of that stuff and get some proper sleep," he told her. Sasha sighed, stretching her aching limbs a bit. Then she shuffled back under her blanket, finding the half-read book in her lap. She placed it on the couch next to her; Eric's eyes tracked the book.

"I helped myself to it," said Sasha. "It's a good read,"

"If you can find it in this room, you're more than welcome to it," said Eric. His gaze fell for a moment to his hands; she thought he might be feeling…awkward. She wondered what he had thought about while she slept; if he'd pondered their situation or if he'd really thrown himself into work simply to avoid thinking of the tarot reading. To be fair, she really had thrown 'the universe wants us to team up against some unknown force' right in the midst of a serious upset with vampire Louisiana.

Then she wondered what time it was.

"About two hours to dawn," said Eric, when he noticed her gaze stray to the windows. There was no longer a view of the city; the curtains were drawn and, she knew that behind them, the light-tight blinds had been closed down and would be locked into place until sunset.

"Compton called half an hour ago," he went on. "Catherine has been apprehended,"

"What?" she said, suddenly far more alert. "Half an—you should have woken me up!"

"You need the sleep. You're running on fumes," said Eric calmly. "I've been packing anyway. Stalling, I should say,"

"Compton wants you to go now?" she frowned. "But it's just a few hours to dawn!

"Mm," he hummed, seemingly agreeing with her. "He doesn't want to waste any time. Even an hour is enough in vampire time—at the very least, we'll be able to strategize, they can catch me up to speed with what they've come up with so far,"

"I guess," said Sasha, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "I can leave then, right?"

Something flashed across Eric's features, though she couldn't pinpoint the expression much, other than a pinching of his features, darkening of his eyes.

"I suppose," he said reluctantly.

"You suppose," she repeated slowly. "Am I or am I not out of the woods, Eric?"

"I'm going to be far," said Eric. "And I won't be able to drop everything and take off. Do what you want, but you've been warned,"

Sasha frowned at him. "Okay,"

"But I think it's best if, after dark, you stay here," he went on. "Just until this has all blown over, and I'm back in Shreveport,"

"Reasonable," she agreed

Eric eyed her suspiciously, like he couldn't believe she was giving up without a fight. She scoffed in annoyance. "You don't have the monopoly on logic, Eric. I'm kind of stuck here anyway, since my car is still at Jason's."

"You aren't," said Eric, reaching into his pocket. He retrieved a gleaming key, handing it to her. "Don't dent it,"

"I promise I won't," she said, wide-eyed and clutching the key to the Porsche like she'd been giving the keys to Heaven itself.

"And," said Eric, handing her a sticky note. In his neat script, he'd written out a series of numbers. "Pin for the front door. The first one opens, the second locks. The third is for the garage. There are fire extinguishers in every room now,"

"Okay," she nodded, if somewhat sour with embarrassment. "Any other numbers?"

"Do you remember the night we met?" asked Eric.

"Obviously,"

He rolled his eyes. "The date specifically, I should say?"

She thought for a moment. "August…seventh,"

He nodded in approval. "That is now the pin code to my bedroom. It's the most secure room in this apartment, and if you feel the need to barricade yourself in there, do so. You are welcome in there simply to sleep, clearly,"

"Clearly," she repeated. "Okay, seems pretty straight forward, even though you're kind of freaking me out. I won't need all this, right?"

"I doubt it," said Eric. "But it doesn't hurt to be cautious. You also have Pamela's number, though I hope for both your sakes you won't need to call on her,"

"Right," said Sasha. "Key, pin codes. Extinguishers. Got it,"

Eric nodded at her, then rose to his feet. For the first time she noticed his attire; black cargo pants bunched up at the tops of his heavy-duty combat boots, a thick, black turtle-neck… He was a fucking crime, looking like sex and death all at once, his headful of blond hair and pale skin stark contrast to his whole murder-daddy vibe. He paused.

"Really?" asked Eric, somewhat amused. She flushed, crossing her legs absently. "Don't say a word. Just go,"

"You're into the whole SWAT thing? Noted," smirked Eric.

Sasha rolled her eyes, getting up and following him to the door. It was odd, seeing him off and knowing that as she lounged in his apartment he was probably going to be off ripping more heads. The sound of Meredith's head being snapped off entered her brain; she shivered, shaking her head to rid herself of the image and sound. Her imagination could only conjure up the image so much; but she'd heard the sound, and didn't want to dwell on it now.

"Be careful," she told him seriously as he paused by the door. He turned to face her, lifting an eyebrow.

"This will hardly be the most dangerous thing I've ever done," he said. His head cocked to the side, and this time he simply looked bewildered.

"You're worried about me," he realized. It was her turn to look bewildered.

"Well yeah," she shrugged. "This doesn't really sound like you're off for a picnic with your vampire neighbors, Eric. You can't be surprised I like you and care about your general welfare—don't make it weird," she said, suddenly flustered. "Just be careful, do what you need to do, then get back here so we can argue about me going back to the motel or something,"

He smirked. "Don't burn my apartment down,"

"Jerk," she said. "Don't worry, I'll probably be soaking in that gorgeous tub of yours for the next few hours,"

His mouth opened a little in surprise, eyebrow cocking mischievously. "How cruel of you to plant such an image in my head,"

She merely grinned at him, unable to help herself, pushing down the flutter of unease at the base of her stomach down, where she hoped he couldn't feel it, where he couldn't be distracted by it. Sasha moved to the front door, holding it open for him. "Bye, Eric," she told him.

Eric chuckled to himself, grabbing the duffle bag that lay at their feet. But as he walked past he hesitated, and for a moment Sasha thought he was going to kiss her. Then he shot her a rueful smile, as though to say that kissing her would just be silly, and he walked off. She watched as he called the elevator, telling herself he'd be fine. He was Eric Northman; of fucking course he'd be fine.

The vampire had kept himself alive for over a thousand years; he could handle himself just fine.

She shut the door tightly behind him, not waiting to see him step into the elevator, knowing that he'd have to turn and see her face. And, Sasha thought, she didn't look nearly as fearless as she'd hoped.

* * *

Eric didn't drive straight to Compton's. He stopped by Fangtasia first, to fill Pam in on what had happened. He'd sent her a message the night before, to tell her of the situation and to caution her to stay underground while Catherine was at large. She'd been pissed, but had promised to remain alert.

Stepping out of his car—he'd taken a far less conspicuous car tonight, a black BMW SUV, he waited, leaning against the driver's side as he summoned his progeny.

Pam came sashaying out of Fangtasia a moment later, dressed to the nines in red snakeskin pants and a tiny black top. Her hair was pulled back in a long braid; pulled back for a fight, Eric thought with a smirk.

"You're going already?" she asked, taking in his attire. He knew she was disappointed to be left behind while he had all the bloody, gory fun, but he felt better at ease knowing that his progeny was around to keep an eye on his assets.

"Unfortunately. Bill's people are a little more efficient then I'd given them credit for," he admitted. "And they found Catherine in the Area—she went to the spot I killed her progeny,"

"Well I hope he's letting you have the honor of ripping that little blonde bitch's head off," she said scornfully. "You should have put Catherine out of her misery _decades_ ago, Eric,"

"I know," said Eric, frustration brimming. "But I didn't, and I have to deal with this now,"

"Why didn't you?" asked Pam.

"Because of Godric," said Eric. His progeny froze; it was the rare moment he mentioned his Maker. Eric had not opened up to her about Godric's death, and he had made it very clear that he did not want to dwell on the topic. Pam, who was not a great talker herself, had accepted this and respected his wishes on the subject. But now that he brought him up, she listened very carefully, knowing he would not repeat himself.

"I never told you this, because it was not my story to tell," confessed Eric. "The vampire that turned Godric—"

"I know," Pam said quickly, eyes wide. "I know,"

"You know?" Eric frowned. "How…?"  
"When you first took me to him," Said Pam. "I was being difficult with you…jealous of your bond with him. I was still worried that you didn't really want me. He sat me down and told me his story,"

This was news to Eric. He did remember, all those decades ago, that Pamela was being particularly difficult only the first year into her turn. He'd been mystified at first; he hadn't known her. She had taken to their life well—nearly too well, and it exasperated him to no end having to clean up her messes, to change city faster than ever before due to her crimes and games. He'd had to learn the hard way that she was insecure about her circumstances of her turn, and that she'd feared he'd simply took her on out of some sort of sense of duty. It had taken introducing her to his Maker to realize her insecurities regarding their bond; he had not realized she'd had any until she grew jealous of his bond with Godric.

"Then you must understand," said Eric. Pam cocked her head to the side.

"I understand why _you_ think you have to take some responsibility for her," she said. She shook her head. "Where's your precious toy?"

"At my apartment, where, if she has any sense, she'll remain," said Eric.

"You gave her the option to leave?" asked Pam.

"It seemed imprudent to lock up a fire hazard against her will," Eric said pointedly.

"And I'm _not_ on babysitting duty?" she asked incredulously.

"Did you want to be?"

"No," said Pam. "I just thought…I was expecting you'd want me to play guard dog all night,"

"She'll be safe in my apartment," said Eric. "She knows it. But if Catherine has any more minions running around…I won't have your life on the line for hers,"

"Good," said Pam. "I have work to do anyway,"

Eric frowned as he watched her sashay back into the bar—she tried hard to block it, but he still felt the trickle of relief that poured out of her end of their bond. It wasn't until he was halfway to Bon Temps that Eric even pieced it together; Pam wasn't worried about babysitting duty. She'd grown worried about where on his priorities she ranked compared to the witch.

How she could have even worried about such a thing, he did not know. Eric realized he might have taken some unnecessary risks lately, might have acted…unusually towards Sasha…but enough that Pam would question their bond? There had to be more.

For now, however, he could now dwell on it. He had to push all of his concerns aside—even those of the disturbing tarot reading. Tonight would be planning, would be moving.

The next night, Eric new, would be a massacre.

When Eric arrived at Compton's mansion, he was quickly escorted to a large dining room. It had been turned into something of a 'situation room', and several vampires and their human consultants were working, dressed and ready for a fight as they finalized the last touches of their plan.

A young vampire quickly greeted Eric, acting as an intermediate as he introduced Eric to "his team" and filled him in on the plan so far. Eric was impressed by Compton's vampires; they weren't complete morons so far, he thought, because thus far they'd managed a plan that wasn't too half-assed. They'd found a vampire in Catherine's employ—the receptionist from her building—that had turned at minimal silver-torture. Using him, they'd sent a message to those confirmed to be working with Catherine to dismantle Bill's monarchy.

"And how do we know that these vampires haven't already been alerted by Catherine?" asked Eric, running a hand over the blueprint of the building they were meeting the turncoats.

"We can't know one-hundred percent," admitted Miller, the young vampire acting as his assistant for the evening. "We've been monitoring communications, and so far it's been quiet. It was always the receptionist's job to summon the others and initiate contact; he swore the last he saw or heard of Catherine was when she fled her home like a bat out of hell. She ordered her guard to stay behind, and that was it,"

Eric hummed in acknowledgment. Catherine was more than just pissed—she'd be deranged from pain and fury by now, and she would act alone. She wouldn't give a damn about her little rebellion now. No, now she would only want to settle the score; it was all too personal for outsiders.

"And Catherine herself? What has she said?" asked Eric. To his surprise, the vampire simply laughed.

"She's been cursing us all to high hell," said the vampire, dark eyes sparkling with amusement. "I don't think it's quite dawned on her that none of her _loyal_ subjects give a damn about risking themselves for their insipid Sheriff,"

Eric considered this. "Take me to her,"

The amusement faded from the vampire's pinched face. "What?"  
"Do I need to repeat myself?" asked Eric.

"I—the King has said that no one is to speak to the disgraced Sheriff without his permission—"

"Miller, don't be a fool,"

Eric tilted his head enough to the side to see Nathan Chen enter. His hair was slicked back from his face, his expression harsh as it dug into Stephen Miller. "His Majesty has put Sheriff Northman in charge of this investigation. If the Sheriff wishes to see the prisoner, you show him to the cells, is that understood?"

"My apologies," said Miller, awkwardly bowing in their direction.

"The newly turned," said Chen, the words coming out like a curse. "I'll take him myself,"

Eric followed Chen out of the busy room, easily keeping pace with the shorter man.

"I apologize, Sheriff Northman. The King has begun an initiative to hire young vampires as aids and— _interns_ I believed he called them. Though it has done a very good job at keeping young vampires employed and in check in Louisiana, I fear not all of them are as useful as we'd all like,"

Eric chuckled. He himself had to admit that it was a good idea—keeping young vampires off the streets by employing them _interns_. It seemed Compton was the type of Monarch that preferred to run his kingdom as a state, with a cabinet rather than a court. _Taking after modern humans_ , Eric mocked in his head. _Of fucking course he is._

Not too long ago, Nathan Chen had escorted Eric into a cell of his own. Now, funnily enough, the same vampire was allowing him a visit with another incarcerated vampire. Chen explained that Catherine would not meet the True Death until her rebellion was entirely stamped out, and only then with a public execution per Compton's orders.

 _Little more cutthroat than I imagined from you, Bill_.

"I'll wait here," said Chen. "Though, Sheriff, I don't imagine you'll have longer than a few minutes. Dawn is nearly upon us, and I know the plan is for the team to move well before then to beat the sun,"

"You won't be joining us?" asked Eric. He was a little disappointed—Chen was the most agreeable of all the vampires Bill employed, his little transgression to care for Sasha _as his own_ aside.

"I'm afraid I'll be missing out on the fun," said Chen, smiling regretfully. "I'll be leading the King's personal guard. We're confident there won't be any moves against the throne, but one can never be too sure,"

Eric nodded. "Very well. You can tell the King he's welcome to keep Miller, too,"

Chen snorted, then opened the door to let him through.

He descended the stairs slowly in the dungeon-prison, his footfalls silent until he reached the bottom. He paused there, eyeing the only lit cell in the room. Catherine sat huddled in the middle of it, her blonde hair falling in mess around her, rocking gently, singing softly to herself.

Eric took a step forward, and she grew still. As he closed the difference between them she slowly looked up at him, murder in her eyes. She said nothing as he drew nearer to the silver bars. Crusted blood lay thick around her eyes, down her cheeks and beneath her nose. The skin around her wrists was still raw from where she'd been handcuffed. He could smell the stench all too clearly.

"Was she worth it?"

Her voice was a lifeless croak. Though his steps did not falter and nor did his expression, Eric felt something in him shift. He did not regret his actions—he would kill Meredith all over again if it meant keeping what was his safe. In the moment, that had been the only option. But looking into her eyes, Eric pitied her more than anything. He sank down to his haunches so that he could meet her gaze.

"It brought me no pleasure to harm you like this," Eric said softly. "But she crossed a line when she went after what was mine,"

"So her life was worth it—worth your little human whore's, then?" spat Catherine. "My— _my_ progeny, Eric!"

Eric remained silent—though a part of him swelled up in relief. _Your little human whore's life. Human_. That was all the confirmation he needed that Catherine was in the dark as to Sasha's true nature.

"I hope she rots," whispered Catherine, tone suddenly sharp with spite. "I hope she rots and breaks, just like you broke me. I hope she entrusts her fragile little human heart into your hands, that you squeeze it until it bleeds dry, Eric Northman."

Eric straightened, staring down at the broken vampire. Catherine was right; she was broken, and he wondered how he could have ever possibly thought that he had fixed her somehow all those years ago.

"I'm sorry it's come to this, Catherine. I've wronged you grievously," said Eric. "I can't take it back, I know. I can only express my regret,"

"YOU BASTARD!" Catherine flew up in a rage, smacking into the bars. She screamed in pain and frustration as her cheeks struck the metal bars, skin melting away from her face. But her crazed eyes focused on him. "Fuck you apology! I'd have given you _anything_ you'd ever wanted, and this is how you treat me! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!"

Eric turned his back on her, swiftly leaving as her curses turned to nonsense babbles. Pam had been right; he should have ended her long ago and saved them all the suffering. Catherine especially.

Nathan Chen locked the dungeon door after him. Then he waited a moment, finally clearing his throat. "Ready, Sheriff?"  
Eric glanced down at his watch. It was just a little over two hours to sunrise, and by the time that they'd arrive in Lafayette, they'd all have to be settled into their coffins. From there, their human guard would stand watch over them at an underground bunker at the airport. The second the sun was down, they'd ambush the enemy vampires at a 'safe house' only a few miles from the airport. Although Eric understood the need to arrive in the area ASAP, it was also the part of the plan that he least liked; being stood guard by unknown humans—any human, really—disturbed him.

"Ready."

* * *

Eric, annoyingly so, had certainly been right about one thing: Sasha was running on fumes. She felt like a fucking zombie, like her head, with all its worries and pressing concerns, was too big for her body and about to topple her over at the slightest movement. She'd rubbed at her tired eyes one too many times, so much so that she worried they'd sunken further into her skull from the force of it. Even the delicious coffee Eric had kept stock of for her was had lost its effect; each cup simply turned her tongue to lead.

She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. As much as she wanted to fall asleep, there was a nagging voice in her head that forbade her from doing so. It worried away at the base of her skull, chipping away any resolve to shut her eyes and give way to slumber. While she felt safe in Eric's apartment, she still felt on edge, and she knew that she would until he was safely in Shreveport and she was…wherever the hell she was supposed to be in life. She didn't like that she was fretting over so much over the vampire—she just wished he was hear, squabbling with her about where she was living and if she was applying herself to her studies. Not on the other side of Louisiana on some bloody rampage that ultimately didn't really concern him.

Sasha's mind wandered back to their argument. _Argument_ ; that was a funny word for it. The anger she harvested at his role in V distribution still hung heavy on her heart; she didn't dare to investigate it further, to see if there was any merit to his accusation that she was so upset simply because of her own relationship to him. She rationalized that it was because she'd come to respect and trust him as a vampire and the knew knowledge was a violation of whom she'd thought him to be. She'd said some pretty harsh things; at least, if not harsh, certainly ballsy. She'd spoken to him in a way she would have only Mimi or Eoin, and it was a small wonder that he'd actually let her.

 _How_ that argument had devolved into a conversation about their relationship in regards to the other she wasn't entirely sure. But she was glad that Eric now knew of tarot, if only so she wasn't in it alone any more.

Sasha glanced at the clock across the room. It wasn't even half an hour to dawn; she imagined that Eric was probably on a plane right now, headed to the southern tip of the state. At least that was her assumption, since he'd alluded to being far. She told herself that after tomorrow night, all would be finished. She told herself it was silly to worry after the thousand-year-old vampire that had led military campaigns even as a human. She wouldn't have to worry about some other vampire knowing her secret, Eric wouldn't have to worry about rebellions, and she could return her focus to her witchcraft studies. Maybe, maybe she'd convince Eric to let her room with him, to let her have the extra bedroom that was surely Pam's, just to fucking spite the blonde vampire…

In somewhat higher spirits, Sasha smiled to herself faintly, rising from the couch and taking her half-finished mug of coffee back into the kitchen.

It was just as she neared the sink that Sasha felt _it_.

She let out a surprised, pained gasp, collapsing to the floor as a wave of exhaustion swept over her with brutal force. The mug in her hand fell to the floor, shattering into pieces of gold and green ceramic fragments. Sasha let out a low whine, trying to blink through the sudden drained feeling—she was _still_ feeling it, her energy dropping startlingly fast, so much so she thought she might suddenly just melt into a heap of flesh and bones onto the floor. Her head swam, and she fought to keep her eyes open.

What the _hell_ had just happened?

* * *

 **Hi y'all. As usual, an apology for the lateness. This chapter was very difficult for me to write. It has to be a part 1 and a part 2, i'm afraid, because otherwise we'd have a twenty thousand word chapter on our hands. Chapter 24 will be, excitingly (for me, anyway!) the final chapter of this story. (*SCREAMS*) This is literally the first fanfic that i have started and completed, like, ever and i can't tell u how proud i am of myself, delays in updating and all. I've learned a lot about writing during this experience, and i'm really so thankful that despite how dead this fandom can be (some pun intended) i've had some really consistent and amazing reviewers. So thanks!**

Liza: Jason for sure gets it wrong just about every time. I hope my portrayal of him didn't come across as creepy/rapey-that was definitely not the intention. I think Jason is a deeply wounded character and as we've seen in the show, there's a reason for it. His lovemap is all sorts of fucked up because of his childhood experiences (teenhood, whatever) and i think it's only natural for him to use sex as a fix-all solution. At the same time, i think Sasha's response was also perfectly reasonable... and obviously, as we've seen here, like hell did Eric let Sasha stay at Bills. Doesn't mean Bill isn't curious tho.

bubu-chibi-chan: glad you enjoyed the excitement of the last chapter. More of that will come back next time! I fucking love Jason, even if he makes some poor decisions lol. I will separate the scenes (I always do, not sure why it didn't come out for last chapter) but thanks for pointing that out to me!

Lucy: Sasha catching a break? Please explain what this means to me ;)

Marissa: Thankssssss


	24. Chapter 24

_**And now, the conclusion.**_

 _ **Chapter 24: Friends and Foes, Part II**_

 _Turn that fucking noise off!_

It was with that groggy thought that Sasha came to. Something wet and cold clung to her skin, and an incessant ringing somewhere in the distance was reverberating in her skull with annoying urgency.

She blinked through fatigue, her head lolling a little on her shoulders as she tried to get to her feet. Her hands, trying to gain purchase on the ground, slid across the tiled kitchen floor—something wet, dark: coffee.

 _Ring! Ring! Ring!_

Her phone. With great effort, Sasha pushed herself to her feet. The clock on the microwave confirmed she'd only been out a few minutes, just enough to disorient her, and she wiped her hands on her jeans, confident she was only soaked through with blood. Then she forced herself into the direction of the living room, where her phone was still ringing on the coffee table.

"Yeah?" she croaked when she had answered the buzzing phone.

" _The fuck just happened_?" demanded Eric. His tone was hushed, but there was no denying the urgency behind it.

"You felt that?" she asked. It was silly to even think that, but she'd thought that the growing geographical distance between them might have dampened their bond a bit, especially since she'd been trying to keep her emotions more to herself anyway.

" _Are you with Pam?_ " he interrupted her inner monologue.

"No what's—"

Eric hung up on her, leaving her to glare tiredly at her phone. She tossed the phone back down on the couch, flopping down next to it a moment later. She'd nearly dozed off when her phone rang once more.

" _Where are you?_ " asked Eric. The snarky bit of her wanted to snap back that she had his blood, that he knew exactly where she was. But if he was flying, it would be hard for him to know exactly where, she knew. A vampire had to be perfectly still to be able to pinpoint the exact location of those that shared blood with them.

"Home—your home, whatever," she said. She winced as she forced her legs to swing off the couch and onto the floor. A hand reached up to her temple. "Eric, what's going on?"

" _Stay there_ ,"

"Eric, _Eric_ , what's going on?" she asked again. His next words caused the blood to drain from her face.

" _Catherine's escaped_ ," he said quickly. It was followed by a curse under his breath—the phone was moved away from his mouth, and she heard the muffle exchange of some voices. " _Look, we're nearly in Lafayette—Even if I had the authority to make them turn this fucking plane around, it wouldn't matter. It's minutes to dawn_ ,"

His voice was tight, frustrated—but she had the inkling of something else creeping through from him—it wasn't just her that was panicking. Eric was, too.

" _Lock yourself in my room—fuck_ ," he hissed. She moved off the couch, scrambling as fast as she could while her body refused to respond properly. Sasha felt like Bambi, legs all lanky and uncooperative as she moved across the floor.

"Are you hurt?" she asked. He sounded pained. In the kitchen, she searched for a plastic bag, finding a garbage bag under the sink. She quickly tossed in food—candy bars and granola bars and the little fruit she had, along with water bottles and anything else that she could find. If she'd be locked in Eric's room, she didn't want to go hungry. And with how her body felt now, like she'd preformed some major magic, she needed all the food she could get her hands on.

" _Not me,_ " he bit out. "Pam is—she's scared,"

 _Pam._ It suddenly all made sense—or at least, Sasha suspected she understood why she suddenly felt so drained.

"Wait—Catherine's gone after—" she broke off as the doorbell went off loudly. She froze, her bag of food and water knocking into her knees with a thud.

" _What was that?_ " Eric asked sharply. " _Sasha?_ "

"Doorbell," she whispered, voice quivering. _Ding!_

"Sasha? It's Nathan Chen—I'm with the King, remember me? Catherine's escaped, and I'm afraid you're unsafe,"

But just as she took a relieved sigh, Eric's voice in her ear returned, more urgent than before.

" _Bedroom. Now_ ," hissed Eric.

"What? But it's Chen—the King's—"

" _Sasha,_ " Eric had to say her name only once. She understood. He didn't trust Chen—he probably didn't trust anyone right now.

"Sasha?" the knocking persisted, as did Chen's calls. "Are you all right?"

"Um—yes!" Sasha shouted towards the door. "The King sent you?"

"Yes. But it's nearly dawn, and I have to get us both to a safe house immediately," Nathan called back.

"Eric locked me in—let me just find the keys!" she shouted back. She backed out of the kitchen as lightly as she could manage, edging down the hallway.

" _The fuck are you doing?"_ hissed Eric.

"Trying to be smart," said Sasha. Then she jammed her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. Then, louder, in the direction of the front door she yelled, "I found them!"

Instead she veered off into the living room to scoop up the codes Eric had written down for her—why hadn't she just kept them in her pocket?  
"Quickly now! We have just under twenty-minutes before sunrise!" he called back. But an impatient edge had crept into his voice—and Sasha had just started for the hallway when he shouted again.

"You little cunt—open this door right now!" He bellowed angrily.

She ran.

The knocking turned into fierce pounding, aggressive enough she felt it in her very soul, her heart hammering in sync with it. Sasha slipped and slid across the polished floors of Eric's apartment, desperately trying to remain upright— _stupid fucking socks!_ —as she held onto her bag of food.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chanted. She heard something splinter and crack at the front of the apartment. She slammed into Eric's bedroom door, whining in pain, bouncing back enough so that she could hurriedly input the code on his bedroom keypad—080709. It flashed red, sounding a low, mocking beep.

"Fucking _fuck_ , Eric Northman!" she cried out in frustration. At the same time, a loud crash went off at the front of the house—Nathan Chen had broken in!

" _Think_!" Eric—Northman—Viking—Sweden—European—Sasha jammed the date in again, this time switched around a little—070809—the keypad chimed again, the tone brighter this time, and flashed green.

The door clicked and she pried it open, throwing herself in and twisting around to kick it shut. It shut just in time, right in Nathan Chen's furious face.

"You little bitch—" the rest of his howls were cut off, becoming muffled as the door clicked shut. She could faintly hear the automated sounds of the doors locks locking into place—she realized that it was far more heavy duty than the front door had been. Nathan Chen pounded on it, but the sounds were muffled.

Still, Sasha stepped away from the door, her heart still hammering away in her chest, breathing hard as she stared at the door. It would hold, right? No—Eric had _promised_ her it would hold. So it had to.

Eric. She realized that he was—hopefully—still on the line. She grabbed her phone from her pocket, dropping the back of food at the foot of the bed and going around it as far as she could from the door with it still in sight.

"You ass!" she hissed at him. "Day, month, year?"

" _What?_ "

"Never mind," she muttered, her eyes still trained on the door. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. I'm in your room—that door will hold, right? Cause he's doing a number on it,"

" _You're in a lockbox. Even I couldn't break through,_ " reassured Eric. His relief calmed her—that and the knowledge that Eric trusted this to be the room he spent his dead sleep in. " _Only thing opening that door is you and the right code. That code will now have expired. You'll have to set a new one from the inside before you leave—which won't be until I get back, understood_?"

"Obviously," she said, looking around for a clock.

" _Seventeen minutes to dawn, give or take,"_ said Eric, as though he'd read her mind. In the background she heard something like rushing water. "He'll have to be gone long before then, if he wants to find shelter,"

"Somewhere relatively close, I'm assuming, if he was going to grab me. Even if he was planning on snapping my neck here—" she shivered at the thought. "—He still be cutting it pretty fucking close. I guess we know how Catherine got out,"

" _I'm starting to think she was never really captured in the first place_ ," said Eric, swearing in his native tongue. " _I should have known—she was apprehended too fast. I shouldn't have left,_ "

"Imagine if you'd taken him up on his offer to watch over me,"

" _I wouldn't have. I didn't_ ," said Eric.

"You didn't have a choice," said Sasha. She fiddled with the hem of her shirt, swallowing. "Pam?"

" _Scared. She's scared_ ," admitted Eric.

"Where is she?"

" _Still in Shreveport somewhere,_ " said Eric. " _And I can't get there fast enough. They had it perfectly timed—using distance and the fucking sunrise to incapacitate me_ ,"

"You're in the air still, right?"

" _Yes. In the fucking bathroom, sink's on_ ," he muttered. " _I don't know that there aren't any more Chen's onboard,_ "

"I'll figure this out. I can't…Pam can't…" he broke off. "Stay in the room. Don't leave for anything. And I mean it. I can't be distracted right now, not from my progeny."  
"I know," she said quickly. "It'll be like I'm on mute,"

He grew quiet, so much so that she had to check to see that he was still on the line. He was.

"It'll be okay, Eric," she tried.

" _It'll be okay?_ " he hissed angrily. "The vampire whose progeny I murdered has _my_ progeny—how can you possibly imagine that things will be _okay_?"  
It was impossible to take his fury personally. She kept her voice steady as she offered the only thing he could want right now, the only thing he might need. It wasn't solace—it was logic. "Because she wants to make you suffer—but given how she feels about you, she'll also want to confront you before she hurts you. Doesn't that sound like something she'd do?"  
" _Yes_ ," said Eric. "Yes, yes of course. She'll use Pamela to lure me in,"

"So don't let her," said Sasha. "Be—"

"Careful, yes I know," he chuckled hollowly. A pause. "Stay. Put. I mean it." Then he hung up, leaving Sasha to slump down on the side of the bed.

Sasha stared at the phone for a long moment. Selfishly, she wished he'd remain on the line with her. Though she trusted Eric's word that the vampire currently hammering away at the bedroom door couldn't get in, well, _there was a vampire currently hammering away at the bedroom door_. But she knew that he had things more important to him to worry about, and so she did as she had promised: she worked on making herself mute, seeking out that thread of a bond between them.

It was like a thread of ice, razor thin but scorching in the way first contact of bare skin against a block of ice is. Sasha focused on it and, as she did, she found that it worked one way, that a steady flow of water seemed to be washed down the thread of ice, from her to Eric—her emotions, everything he felt from her, she guessed. She grappled with that thread now, trying to cut off that flow—but before she did, she focused with all her might on something good, something that brought her hope. Squeezing her eyes shut, Sasha tried hard to remember the first time she'd felt at home at Malachi's compound. It wasn't all that difficult. She conjured the memory with ease—a simple evening, an evening as normal as it had been ridiculously unnatural: she and Malachi and those closest to him at the nest, sitting down for an evening meal as though they weren't the beings she'd only ever imagined in fiction. But she'd remembered that feeling of sitting down among them, looking around the table at the other 'freaks' she'd found herself surrounded in. Sasha gripped onto the blossoming hope she'd felt then, at eleven. Then she pushed it down the thread-like bond she had with Eric. She waited a moment, then blocked him out.

* * *

Three minutes. That was how long Nathan Chen stood outside of Eric's bedroom door, pounding away. With some fourteen minutes left to dawn, he gave up, though Sasha didn't dare open the door. She eyed the clock on Eric's nightstand eagerly, ticking down the very second until the sun came up. Then, the second it was dawn, Sasha peeled herself off the floor where she'd been huddled down, rolling out her stiff and aching limbs. She dived into Eric's bed.

She'd listen to Eric. There was no way she was leaving the room now; who knew if Nathan Chen had humans watching the apartment. No, she'd stay in, thank you very much, and she needed to get some sleep while she could. Besides, she had done her part already, she kept telling herself. Sasha had figured out why she felt so drained; it was because of that amulet she'd given to Eric, intended for his progeny. He had told her that he'd have her wear it, but she'd had her doubts on whether he'd followed through; it seemed that he'd compelled Pam to wear it after all, and they were all better off for it now, she hoped.

It was still the first and only object Sasha had ever enchanted, but she was faintly proud that her protection amulet seemed to be doing it's job. Eric had confirmed that Pam, although scared, was alive, and if Sasha was feeling so drained, it had to mean that the amulet was being activated, and it was feeding on her to do its job. An unforeseen drawback, but now that she was safely in Eric's room, she thought it wasn't too shabby of a job she'd done.

She was asleep in seconds.

* * *

She didn't sleep long. Sasha woke up at midday. She had slept terribly, assuaged by a gnawing guilt. Although she felt a little more recovered, she felt like absolute shit. It was, she thought, incredibly stupid of her to feel that way. Pam had nearly gotten her killed. It was therefore illogical to even think about puttering herself in harm's way to go save the bitchy blonde vampire. It should have been the logical thing for her to simply stay put and wait until it was safe. But Sasha could hardly take a bubble bath and nap all day, knowing that Eric was out of his mind with worry for his childe, and hundreds of miles and an entire day away from her.

 _She wouldn't do it for you_ , thought Sasha. No, Pam certainly wouldn't risk a fingernail for her. But then again, she wasn't Pam, and for better or worse, she was Sasha Buckley, and Sasha Buckley simply didn't know how to walk away from a situation that hurt those she cared about. And after everything they'd been through, she cared about Eric in a very particular way, and by extension couldn't let anything happen to Pam if she could prevent it.

Eric might have considered her his in the traditional sense—the traditional _vampire_ sense, anyway. But Sasha, somewhere between human and witch and vampire, well she sure as hell claimed people as hers. She was growing a steady collection, and though he might have laughed in her face at such a notion, Eric Northman was hers, whatever feelings she may or may not have had for him be damned.

"It's day," Sasha said to herself. "It's day, and you have the advantage. It's day, and you have the advantage…witch or not you have the advantage…"

Remembering something, Sasha went back to her phone. She ran through the brief contacts list. There were only four numbers in it: Fangtasia, Eric, Pam, and one more that read, 'Emergency Only: Day Man'.

She hovered over that number for a moment. She'd never met Eric's day-man, and she wasn't sure that she could even get him to come to the apartment with the things that she needed. But if she was going to do anything at all, she wasn't going to be stupid about it and take unnecessary risks, and leaving the apartment seemed dumb until she knew what to do and where she needed to go. For all she knew, Catherine and Nathan Chen could have day-humans of their own watching her. Maybe she was paranoid, maybe she was smart.

Sasha chewed on her lip. She couldn't fuck this up—if she did, it was more than just her life on the line. She hit dial.

The call was sent to voicemail. She called again. And again, and again.

"Who the hell is harassing me at six in the mornin'?" demanded a gruff voice. It was not what she had pictured. It wad deep with sleep and, she thought it a little heat in her cheeks, more than a little hot.

"Um, hi, this is Sasha," she said uncertainly. He knew about her, right? Eric had used him to get her food and things.

"I don't know a Sasha. You've got the wrong number—"

"Wait!" she exclaimed. "Don't hang up! This is an emergency,"

"Then you've definitely got the wrong number," said the man. "You're lookin' for nine-one-one,"  
"Look, are you or are you not Eric's day-man?" she demanded.

"Eric's—You callin' on behalf of Eric _Northman_?" he asked irritably. "Tell him I'm not interested,"

" _Wait_ ," she exclaimed again. "So you do work for him?"

The man snorted. "That what he said?"

"Look," Sasha said impatiently. "He'll give you five-thousand dollars if you bring this list of items to his address. He'll make it ten if you get here in under an two hours,"

Then Sasha hung up, texting Eric's address to the man, along with a hastily typed out list. Now she could only wait and hope.

* * *

Eric ran a hand over his slicked back hair, flattening out the crinkles in his gelled hair. He had to gain control of himself, and he had to do so fast. As he glared into his own glacial eyes in the small mirror's reflection, he felt suddenly warm all over, and a bit of the weight he carried on his shoulders melted away. His consternation lessened fractionally, and he frowned, wondering what that had been—

He snorted, a small, disbelieving laugh passing through his lips as he suddenly found himself devoid of that nagging little thread of emotion usually always there at the back of his head these days. His little witch had been responsible for that, of course.

He checked on their bond one last time, concentrating. With enough effort he found it, though, true to her word, it seemed that she'd put herself on mute to save him the distraction. Good.

A plan. He had to have a plan. Catherine was on the loose, and she had at least Nathan Chen on her side. They'd gone after Sasha unsuccessfully, and Eric was certain that, even if they sent humans during the day for her, it wouldn't matter. She was safe as long as she stayed in his bedroom. He had nothing to worry there, and the attempt on her had revealed Nathan Chen's betrayal. His first and only priority was Pam, and he'd be able to locate her the second they landed on solid ground.

That was where it got difficult. The knowledge of where she was wasn't all that helpful while he was stuck hundreds of miles away during the day. He could charter travel back through Anubis—the idea made him weary, however. Having worked for Crown, Nathan Chen had resources. It was likely Eric would be landing in hostile territory as it was. No, he'd have to secure himself during the day somehow, because he'd be useless captured or dead to Pamela.

Eric shut the water off, leaving the tiny airplane bathroom. Heads turned in his direction, but he met them all head on, his expression unwavering.

"Trouble, Sheriff?" asked a nearby vampire.

"Nothing I won't soon be handling," said Eric. He claimed his seat once more, well aware of the tension on the small jet. It was very nearly dawn, and he intended on staying awake. These vampires were far younger, and he doubted that even a quarter of them would be able to stay awake during the day. He didn't know which ones, if any, were to be mistrusted. But Eric knew that heads would soon roll.

* * *

Thanks to the impenetrably thick walls of Eric's bedroom, it took Sasha a while to even realize that someone was in the house. She'd been turning over Eric's bedroom, searching for any possible weapons—it was difficult, given that the vampire to whom it belonged to _was_ the weapon in most given situations, and she'd all but given up when she'd finally realized something.

Hell, she was a weapon too. She might not be able to command it with the ease and natural instinct Eric used his strength and speed or could extend his fangs, but given reason, she could be every bit as deadly with her fire.

But then she'd grown distracted, because in her snooping, she'd found something unexpected. Tucked away in one of his drawers, Sasha had found a picture of herself and Eric. She smiled involuntarily, thinking back to that night in Bill Compton's mansion, when she and Eric had had their picture taken by a photographer.

" _I can't believe he thought_ we _were married!"_

" _I'm in all black, you're in all white. We're also hot as fuck side by side."_

He'd been so beautiful, so arrogant—so suspicious of her that night. But even when he'd thought her to be some demonic soul-sucking creature, a succubus sent with nefarious intentions to fuck with him, he hadn't hesitated to protect her from the fallout with Bartholomew. She was resolute in not failing him in turn now.

Sasha's breath caught as she suddenly became aware of muffled noise beyond the bedroom. She'd gotten so used to the dead silence in the room that now even her ears picked up on the fact that someone was tromping around the house. She quietly put her ear to the bedroom door, her heart rate picking up with anticipation.

"Hello? Anyone here?"

It sounded like the man she'd spoken to over the phone. It was hard to replicate that gruff tone, honeyed as it was by his Southern Twang. What was that accent—Mississippian?

"Look, it's way too early in the day for a game of hide 'n seek. You here or not, girl?" continued the man. She heard his footsteps in the hall—a knock here or there as he came to a door. She was a little assured that he didn't seem to be trying to force his way into any room when he received no answer. He finally came to Eric's bedroom door. She thought she heard sniffling.

"Look, I'll leave this shit in the kitchen and get going,"

Just as he turned to leave, Sasha summoned up her courage and opened the bedroom door.

Sasha's jaw practically dropped, eyes sweeping over the massive figure that was the so-called day-man. He turned to face her, eyeing her in surprise. He was ridiculously big, ridiculously fit, and ridiculously hot.

And decidedly not human. At least, not _just_ human.

"You're a were!" she exclaimed in surprise, picking up on his inhuman aura immediately. She'd recognize that wild, raw energy anywhere. His own eyebrows shot up, and he eyed her suspiciously.

"Who're you again?"

"I'm Eric's, um…I'm Eric's. " she said simply. It seemed the easiest explanation at this point.

"Eric's—as in you're _his_? He's got one of them vamp claims on ya?" he clarified. Again his eyes swept over her. She squared her shoulders, standing up taller. She'd changed out of pajamas and into a pair of dark jeans and a black sweater, but it was impossible not to be dwarfed by the man.

"Look, just, did you bring the stuff?"

The were handed over a bag, and she set about sifting through it. As she did, the were looked around curiously, peeking over her into Eric's bedroom. She reached back and edged a hand on the doorknob, closing the door enough that it maintained the privacy of Eric's bedroom.

"What's going on here? Where even is here?"

"Eric's apartment," she said absently. "Okay, you got everything. Thanks. I'll make sure Eric pays you,"

"Now hold on a second—Sasha? You said your name was Sasha on the phone, right?"

"Yeah,"

"Why don't you go ahead and tell me just what the hell's going on then, Sasha," said Alcide. "Because this don't feel right,"

Sasha hesitated, glancing up at him. "I don't know you. I don't really think I should be sharing this with you," she admitted.

But the man wouldn't take no for an answer. He shook his head, obvious frustration and irritation melding across his tanned features. "No, that's not gonna fly with me. _You_ called _me_ , remember?"

"Only because I wasn't sure who else to call! Besides, I thought you were Eric's day-man," she argued.

Alcide cocked his head to the side. "How'd you get my number in the first place, girl?"

She scoffed at him calling her _girl_ once again _._ "Eric gave me a phone with four numbers. Yours was one of them," she said with a shrug. "Said 'Emergency only-Day man',"

"Dead fucker," muttered Alcide. "Surprised it didn't just say 'dog',"

"So I take it you and Eric don't get on," observed Sasha. He snorted.

"You could say that,"

"Well he doesn't trust a lot of people, but he must trust you enough to have programmed your number in my phone,"

"You sayin' he cares about you?" asked Alcide. She pressed her lips together—he was clearly fishing for information.

"Thanks again for helping me…?"

"Alcide. Alcide Herveaux,"

"Thanks for helping me Mr. Herveaux," she said. "But I really need to get moving," As if to prove a point, she moved around him, headed for the living room. But he followed hot on her heels.

The man dragged a large hand down the front of his face, looking deeply exasperated as he did. "The hell did that to the door?" he said, jamming his thumb in the direction of the door.

Sasha glanced at it; the front door had been ripped off it's hinges clean, and was now on the floor several feet from it's frame. Though it was still intact, splinters ran the length of it.

There was no use lying. He was a were after all. "A vampire,"

"A vampire? Then if it happened at night, you said this was his apartment—where the hell was Eric?"

"Out," Sasha answered cagily. "Are you done with twenty-questions?"

"Not really, no," said Alcide. He crossed his arms across his chest, biceps bulging beneath his red and blue flannel. "What's he havin' you do for him?"

"Nothing," said Sasha. " _SO,_ thanks for the supplies, but—"

"He got something on you?" pressed Alcide. "I know how he operates. He makes it so you owe him, and then he never seems satisfied that a debt's been paid,"

"No it's not—look, I appreciate everything, I do, but can you please get lost? I have a vampire that I hate to save,"

"Fucking Christ," muttered Alcide, throwing his hands up. "You know what, I'm not doing this again. Nope. Wish you the best of luck, kid,"

She watched as the massive wolf let himself out, somewhat baffled by him. Then she shook her head. Now was _so_ not to time to wonder about the company Eric kept.

It was a little unsettling having no door to the apartment, and the first thing Sasha did was unravel long strings of fishing line—just one of the items she'd had Alcide pick up for her. She taped it across the open doorway near the bottom. It was all very Home Alone, but she hoped that if anyone did try to enter, it might cause enough of a commotion to tip her off if she was in another room.

Then she moved onto the other items he'd picked up for her. She spread the map of Louisiana out on the ground, flattening it quickly with her palms. Then she dug through the bag for the crystal necklace she'd asked for, breathing once on the quartz dangling off the pendant. When she felt it was activated, she dangled it above the map, tugging lightly to get it to start moving around in a circular motion.

Scrying for vampires, Sasha had learned through her studies, was difficult. Scrying was for living things, and vampires straddled the line between living and dead, and the older they were, the longer they'd been undead and therefore the harder they were to track. But she felt confident that she could find Pam, a relatively young vampire, because they shared Eric's blood. And so she started scrying, chanting Pam's name over and over again in her mind to focus all of her will on finding _that_ vampire, and not her Maker.

Suddenly, the crystal darted forward; its point landed on Shreveport. She surged forward excitedly, a sense of pride overtaking her. But then she realized that, although it helped to know that Pam was still in Shreveport (and, for that matter, still alive) it did not help her with where to go. She frowned at the map for a long time, then snapped her fingers together.

"Old school meets modern," she muttered to herself, finding her way to Eric's office. It was one of her favorite rooms in the house, but other than a quick, curious peek during her first stay, she'd thought it wise not to invade his privacy any more than she already had. But now she knew none of that mattered, and she headed straight for the computer.

She noticed the bright pink sticky note plastered to the side of the screen immediately.

 _In case you get bored_.

At first she smiled to herself, thinking, _Eric Northman uses hot pink sticky-notes_. But then she booted up his Mac desktop, and she saw that there was a guest profile with her name waiting for her.

Her heart did a funny little stammer. He really thought of everything, Eric. She tapped her fingernails against the keyboard, glad she didn't have to hack her way through Eric's profile (because she was barely tech-savvy enough to operate PowerPoint). She quickly fired up the search engine, and she found a map of Shreveport, printing it out. It was an enlarged view of the city of Shreveport. She began scrying again.

When it landed near the edge of Cross Lake North West of her location, Sasha found another map online, blowing it up until she could see individual buildings at the water's edge. Then she printed that one too, scrying for a third time. Soon she had an exact location.

She circled it, then took it back to the computer, typing in the nearest cross street into Maps. Dragging the little yellow man icon, she was able to get a street-view of the place. It looked like an abandoned warehouse near the water, probably where boats were stored for the winter, judging by it's proximity to a dock. Another quick search confirmed that it was abandoned indeed; she found an article about the building and how it's owners had gone out of business after the IRS had audited them after evidence of fraud. As far as she could tell, it had yet to be purchased.

It was the perfect place for a vampire to hide out. Now was also the perfect time to strike…

The doorbell. She froze at the sound, her eyes darting to the clock. It was afternoon, but who knew if Catherine or one of her minions had glamored a human to come after her?

"Sasha? It's Alcide Herveaux," he called out.

She relaxed only slightly. Her body still tense, she slowly moved to the front door. She peeked out, finding him standing there with a tool belt, beaten up toolbox, and plastic bag from a local hardware shop in hand.

"What are you doing?"  
"Northman can bill me," he shrugged. "Thought I'd fix the door," He gestured to the empty doorway. "Didn't feel right, leaving you here like this without a proper front door,"

"Well, it's not like it seems to matter," she said. "Vampire got in anyway,"

"Yeah, well, I'll feel a lot better about leaving you in whatever this mess is if you at least have a decently functioning door,"

He stepped over her trip-wire, shooting her a wry smile as he did.

As Alcide set about working, Sasha powered through her stack of energy bars, watching him curiously, contemplating her plan of action. Alcide's eyes would widen comically each time she tore open a new one. She washed each one down with coffee, trying to revive herself as much as possible for what was to come.

Occasionally Alcide would make some comment or other, trying to draw out a few answers from her. She saw right through him however, and she avoided revealing anything about her relationship with Eric. But Alcide was an astute wolf, and he understood more than she let on.

"Look, all I'm sayin' is, people around Northman tend to get hurt. Good people. If I were you, I'd cut my losses. You seem nice,"

"So do you," said Sasha. "And obviously there's some bad blood between you two—"Alcide gave her a look at her phrasing. "—But I have to do what I feel is right,"

"Because he'd do the same for you, that it?" he asked sarcastically.

"Yes," she said without hesitation. "He's—"

Sasha broke off, clutching at her chest as she was assaulted by a wave of nausea and exhaustion. She crumpled to the floor, passed out.

She came to on the couch; Alcide perched on the coffee table, eyeing her with worry. He handed her a glass of water, and she drank it greedily.

"Pam," she gasped when her throat felt less like dry parchment.

"Eric's progeny? She's doing this to you?" asked Alcide, reaching to help her up into a sitting position. His skin was so hot against hers, though it wasn't clammy, and it was strange compared to the cool marble she'd come to know.

"Yes, well no— _ow_ ," Sasha bent over at the waist, wincing as the pain tore through her again. Now it was at her side. "It's a long story," she admitted breathlessly.

"I think you need to lay down," said Alcide. She shook her head, gripping his hand tightly and squeezing with all her might.

"No. I have to go. Gotta find Pam. Before sunset. Some psychotic vampire has her and they're using her as bait to draw Eric in,"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," muttered Alcide angrily. "Absolutely not. You're gettin' into bed with the strongest painkillers I can find, ya hear? I can guess this ain't something a doctor can fix, but like hell am I just lettin' you outta here like this,"

"No," she said, eyes narrowing at him. "You can't boss me around. You don't even know me," argued Sasha. "I'm scrappier than I look."

Alcide checked his watch. "There's not even a full two hours of daylight left,"

Sasha's face turned to ash. " _What?"_ She'd been out for hours!

"Anything you might've wanted to do—you lost your window," continued Alcide. "If you're smart, you'll stay out of it and let Northman handle this,"

"No," she said resolutely.

"You care about Pam that much?" asked Alcide. "'Cause I've met her, and she didn't strike me as the type to have any close girlfriends,"

"This isn't about Pam," said Sasha. "This is about Eric. He's saved my life too many times now—he can't lose his progeny. You wouldn't get it, were,"

Alcide lifted an eyebrow at her scathing tone. "Oh, and _you_ do?"

"More than you, obviously," said Sasha.

"Where the hell does Northman find you girls?" he muttered under his breath. He ran a hand through his dark locks, looking torn. He checked his watch once more.

"Say I help you," he said, "And that's a big _if_ ," he added. "You even know where she's being held?"  
"Yes," Sasha said quickly, moving to jump to her feet. A big, warm hand on her shoulder forced her back down into the couch pillows. "I do know where she is. It's an abandoned warehouse, Cross Lake. North West of here,"

"You know what we'd be up against?"  
"Two vampires are least," said Sasha. "Catherine's the psycho one with a grudge. She has another at her disposal—Nathan. Nathan Chen,"

Alcide ran a hand over his face, seeming to shrink beneath the weight of her her imploring eyes.

"Fine," he finally said. "We'll check it out. But if there's a fucking army of vampires waiting to trap Northman—well, he's on his own, princess,"  
"Fair," she agreed, nodding her head quickly. "Are you—" Sasha broke off, sweeping her eyes over his massive frame. They stopped on his bulging biceps—and he wasn't even flexing. "I mean you totally look like you're good in a fight, but uh, are you?"

Alcide snorted. "I do not like where this is going," he muttered. "Yeah, I can handle myself. And I've been up against a vamp or two before,"

"Good to know," said Sasha, nodding to herself. "Yeah, this'll totally work,"

But Alcide already looked like he was regretting everything. "Look, the second I say the word—we're outta there, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," she promised. He was unconvinced, like despite just having met her, he already had a pretty good idea about who he was dealing with.

"You still in pain?" he asked.

"It's fading,"

"Then we shouldn't lose anymore time. Come on,"

Sasha checked her watch. It was 3:46; they had just over hour to get across town, get Pam, and get the hell out of dodge. Was she fucking stupid? Yes. But she kept telling herself that Eric would take such a risk for her—that he had, repeatedly—and that she couldn't fail him now. Any animosity she felt towards Pam withered away when she thought about the irreparable damage losing his progeny would do to Eric.

Alcide turned out to be a something of a calming presence, even as they bickered. He appeared deceptively calm for the situation, though he'd made it quite clear that he thought it was a Bad Idea more than once as they drove across town. She told him as much.

"Yeah, well that makes one of us," said Alcide, tossing her a smirk. "Your fidgeting's makin' me nervous,"

"Sorry _I_ don't have the calming disposition of a therapy dog," she shot back. Alcide raised an eyebrow at her.

"'Scuse me?"

"Fuck," she said, eyes growing wide, ficking towards him. "That's—I meant that as friendly banter…which is dumb because I just met you. Sorry,"

He eyed her strangely for a moment, then his eyes returned to the road. "You know a lot of weres, kid?"

"I wouldn't say _a lot_ ," said Sasha, shifting around in the seat of his truck. "One I know pretty well. When I was about twelve, I hit this phase where I was really into camping, and she was the only one that wanted—and could, really—take me out. Beth taught me everything I know about the outdoors," she said thoughtfully. "You know, all that survival, wilderness crap. She barely allowed me a tent and sleeping bag,"

"And remind me again, how did you say you know Northman?" asked Alcide.

Sasha swallowed around a bite of energy bar, eyes flicking to him. "I didn't say,"

Alcide snorted, shaking his head. "Ten grand, you said?"

"Yep," said Sasha. "I'll give you an extra ten to save me from whatever tower he locks me away in after all this is over,"

The werewolf chuckled. "Deal,"

They made good time, driving across town. Sasha directed him from her map, and Alcide decided to park a whole block away from the warehouse. He figured that if any vampires were still awake, they'd be tipping them off with the noise of the car. Sasha agreed, and she tried to follow his surprisingly quiet footsteps without crunching loose gravel beneath her shoes, stepping only where he stepped. For such an enormous man, he had an incredibly quiet walk.

The warehouse in question was right on the edge of the water. Although decrepit, it still held up strong enough against the moist air, and Sasha made a mental note of the construction: other than the large glass windows near the ceiling, most of the warehouse appeared an original construction from the 1920s, and nearly entirely made of wood.

"Look," she whispered, pointing to the high windows near the roof. They'd been covered in a film of reflective paper, and hastily taped up judging by the messy work. Though it wouldn't be her first choice as a vampire for a light-tight refuge, she could see that it would serve its intended purpose. But even if it would be easy for her to throw a rock through the window, Pam was every bit as susceptible to the sun as the other two vampires, and they couldn't risk simply flooding the warehouse with sunlight.

 _Dying sunlight_ , Sasha reminded herself, glancing at the sun. It was lower on the horizon than she would have liked, given the half-assed plan she'd been constructing in her head on the ride over.

"Looks like this is the right place," agreed Alcide, pulling her back behind the corner of the building they were crouched against. She was very glad to have the were with her; Sasha couldn't imagine trying this by herself. Still, she had to ask.

"If you've changed your mind, now is probably the time to say it," she told him. "It's fine if you have, just, I have to know now rather than later,"

His brown eyes bore down into hers, searchingly. "Have you?"

"No!"

" _Sh_ ," he sighed. "Then I guess I haven't either,"

"Oh!" Sasha exclaimed before Alcide shushed her again. She shuffled closer to him. "Almost forgot! Her progeny had were-panthers with her last time, so heads up on that! I don't think Catherine will have any, but…" she shrugged.

Alcide let out a stream of curses under his breath.

"You're telling me this now?"

"It only now occurred to me," she said defensively. She tossed another look towards the warehouse. "Okay, I have a plan, and you probably won't like it. I'm going to go in fifteen minutes before sunrise. That's six minutes from now, okay? I'll go in, and I'm going to start a fire."

"You'll _what_?" hissed Alcide.

"Paper beats rock, rock beats scissors, fire beats vampire," said Sasha.

"Yeah I know—how the hell would you even be able to start a fire before one of them fangers broke your neck?" asked Alcide. "And your vamp's just as susceptible as the others. Not to mention that it'll take at _least_ fifteen, twenty minutes for that buildin' to go on fire. And that's only if you can get it to catch properly, and—"

"Just trust me on this," said Sasha. Not that she trusted herself all that much; starting a fire, she thought, might be easy. Keeping it from devouring Pam was something else entirely. She was barely certain that the mere sight of the blonde wouldn't piss her off tonight.

Not to mention that the very thought of being in another burning building terrified her.

"You have to have the getaway car ready. If the sun's not entirely out by the time we get out, Pam'll burn anyway," continued Sasha. "And if the sun is out but one of or both the vampires aren't burnt to a crisp…well then we'll all be fucked if we don't have the car running,"

"You call this a plan?" asked Alcide. "What the fuck are you even going to use to start a fire? Rub two sticks together?"  
"Something like that," Sasha said darkly. "Look, can I count on you to have the car running or not?"

"This is a suicide mission," muttered Alcide, tugging at the locks.

"Thirty-thousand," sang Sasha.

"You think I give a shit about the money right now?" asked Alcide. "How is it that, anyway this goes, I end up accessory to murder?"

"Only if we live through this _and_ get caught," said Sasha, trying to smile through a bout of fake bravado. They were losing daylight. "It'll work. I've got this,"

She chewed on her lip as he seemed to consider her half-assed plan. "So?" she prompted.

"So you're fucking crazy," muttered Alcide. There were gave his dark locks one last time. "I can't believe I'm saying this—but fine. I'll keep an ear out for you. If I hear something I don't like, I'm coming in, you got it?"

"Fair," said Sasha, nodding vigorously. "What's probably going to happen is this: I'll go in, they'll think I'm making a _really_ dumb attempt at freeing Pam, and they'll tie me up to wait for Eric. They won't kill me yet unless I give them reason to,"

"Yeah, that makes me feel real good about all of this," said Alcide. "How are you so sure?"

"Because they can't be certain that, wherever he is right now, Eric isn't asleep. They'll want him totally aware, ideally pleasant before ripping me apart,"

"That is so fucked up," said Alcide. "So they tie you up—how are you starting a fire then?"

"The whole thing is made of wood, Alcide," said Sasha, gesturing to the old warehouse. "And it's ancient. It'll go up like tissue,"

"A: we're close to the water. It's damp here, that buildin's probably humid as hell," said Alcide. "B: That's not what I asked,"

Sasha chewed on the inside of her lip for a long moment. Her frustration was getting the best of her—she was starting to suddenly not appreciate Alcide and his role of Voice Of Reason, until she realized that was it! Her frustration!

"This is how," said Sasha. She held her left palm flat and up, letting go of that thin veneer of control she had.

She'd only meant to create a small flame at the center of her palm, something similar to a candlewick. But instead her entire hand burst into fire, so suddenly and so strongly Alcide leapt back several feet, crouching low into a naturally defensive position.

"Holy shit!" she exclaimed to herself, eyes wide as she shook out her hand. The fire didn't go out. She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrated on reigning in her emotions—she peeked at her hand; the fire was out. "Oh, thank god,"

"Jesus Christ," exclaimed Alcide, moving closer to her. He picked up her hand delicately, like it was a skillet fresh off the stove, turning it over with a mixture of shock and awe. "The hell are you, kid?"

"Your worst fucking nightmare if you tell anyone!" she threatened. He eyed her wearily. Sasha felt like an angry kitten hissing and spitting at an unimpressed dog four times her size.

"Sorry," she said, tucking a curl behind her ear. "I don't like people knowing what I can do,"

"Noted," said Alcide. He looked over her shoulder at the warehouse.

"Fine. We'll do this your way,"

* * *

It didn't take her long to find her way inside of the warehouse. Although the place had been clearly made light-tight quickly—duck tape and layers of reflective foil covered every window—it had been done so sloppily. But it wasn't as dark inside as she had expected; a fluorescent light shone brightly overhead, lighting the warehouse in a dim halo of yellow light.

Sasha squinted through the darkness, hoping her eyes would adjust quickly before she forayed deeper into the unknown building. When she finally deemed her eyes as adjusted as they would be, she creeped out of the maintenance doorframe she was huddled against to stand against a rusty forklift. The warehouse was mostly barren, and it looked like all that had been left behind was broken equipment and rusty boating accesories after the owners had gone out of business.

There were three containment units in particular stood out to Sasha. Of the three, only two were shut all the way, and she was willing to bet that Pam was in one of them, and Catherine and Nathan Chen in the other. But which one?

 _Pam is in the green one_ , she thought to herself. She could only describe the thought as being led by instinct, the sort of instinct that sprouted from the vampire blood in her veins that recognized its counterpart as being _just right there_. Satisfied that this was as good as her guess was going to get, Sasha quickly scanned the warehouse floor, looking for any sign of anything with a pulse.

But as she stepped out from behind her hiding spot, she was tackled from behind. She gasped as the wind was knocked out of her, barely able to put her hands out to stop herself from slamming her face into the ground.

"Gotcha!" exclaimed a man. He wrestled her to face him, grasping tightly to her wrist once he was straddling her. He leaned in, peering closely at her eyes. Then he let out a hoot of triumph. "You're the two-colored eye bitch they told me to watch out for!"

"Get off!" she snarled at him. He simply laughed, standing up and throwing her over his shoulder like she was nothing more than a ragdoll. "I was told to toss you in with that vamp bitch if you snuck in here! Doubt you'll last long, she's been bled out since last night,"

Sasha paled, renewing her efforts to struggle with the six-foot-six glamored human. At least she thought he was glamored—there was no way to know one hundred percent. She hadn't counted on Pam being bled out; she'd be ravenous with hunger right now, and with the way that she felt about Sasha…well the odds of Pam keeping a reign on her control weren't very good.

Worst of all was that cold, dreadful fear was washing over her, extinguishing the fiery rage she'd been counting on tapping into.

"Let go! Let go of me you giant bastard!" she all but screamed. She wondered if Alcide could hear her—if he was even still out there, if she'd putting her trust in a random werewolf was going to be the death of her.

 _And all of this over Pam?_

The man laughed at her, disorienting her by dropping her to the ground as he used both hands to unlock the storage unit. She tried crawling away, but he snatched her up with ease, tossing her into the darkness of the storage unit. She hit the metal floor, feeling her palms tear up at the rusted bits of metal and grime it was coated with. She tried gathering her bearings through her disoriented state, cringing when the containment unit door was slammed shut unforgiving behind her.

"What the fuck are you doing here, you dumb little cunt?" croaked a familiar voice. Sasha scrambled onto her back, moving away from the corner of the unit Pam's voice had come from. Her hand ran over a plastic-coated wire—she grabbed onto it, tracing it to somewhere above her—a button! She pressed it, shirking away from the bright fluorescent battery-powered light that flickered into life overhead.

Holy shit.

It was impossible to do anything but gape at the vampire. Sasha had never seen her look so tragic; in fact, Sasha had only ever seen her in her sexy Fangtasia getups or formal wear. There had even been that time she'd seen the blonde in a tracksuit, and somehow even that had come across as chic. But _this_ —Pamela was covered in burns and cuts, obviously from silver, as they had yet to be healed. She looked the palest Sasha had ever seen and, worst of all, she was _bald_. What kind of torture had Catherine put her through? Weak as she was—how had her hair not grown back?

"Pam—your hair!"

The vampire hissed. It was a broken, pathetic sound, devoid of the menace Sasha knew her capable of. Pam was simply too weak to muster up her usual malice. "It was your stupid little magic necklace!" she bit out, voice scratchy and cracking. "And I _know_ you did it, you little witch bitch, and the second I'm free I don't care _what_ Eric says, what he wants, I am going to fucking end you."

Oh, oh, _oh._ Unfortunately for Pam, Sasha _was_ at fault for her newfound baldness. She hadn't exactly intended it—when she'd created the charm, she'd crossed the spells with some she'd found in the grimoire for pranks; it appeared some of her ancestors at least, had possessed a sense of humor. And so, to teach Pam a lesson, she'd also charmed the necklace not only to alert its wearer of possible danger, but to turn their hair a sickly neon green.

It appeared that the spell had gone a bit awry.

Somehow, Sasha didn't feel at all bad.

"You deserve it,"

"I mean it—I'll fucking kill you myself," rasped out Pam. With great effort, she sat up a little straighter in the corner she was slumped in. Sasha now noticed the silver manacles at her ankles and wrists. They were keeping her weak and in pain. And they were also probably the only thing keeping Sasha safe right now.

"That's strange," said Sasha, tone scathing as she glared at the vampire that had already attempted to arrange for her death. "It's like your big hair was doing all the threatening for you before—now when I look at you, I'm only in danger of dying laughing,"

Pam's eyes narrowed with hatred.

"I. Will. Bleed. You. Dry."

Sasha snorted. "Even if you did plan on following through with your threat—Eric would have your fucking fangs if you touched a single hair on my head. " she snapped back. Then feeling particularly brave against the decrepit vampire, she added, " _Bitch_ ,"

"You must be out of your fucking mind if you believe that," snarled Pam "He might have a soft spot for you, but don't for one fucking moment think that what he feels for you could even begin to compare what _I_ mean to him,"

"Oh my _god_ ," Sasha hissed, realization striking her. "This isn't about him, about protecting him, at all! You're no better than the other bimbos that flock around him at Fangtasia—you're _jealous_!"

"Watch what you say or I'll rip your throat out,"

"You can fucking try me, Pam! Just admit it—this has nothing to do with kings and queens and a worry that I'll just cause trouble for your precious maker. This has everything to do with how petty and jealous you are of the attention he gives me!"

Pam scoffed. "You don't know what you're talking about,"

"Oh, but I think I do," said Sasha ruthlessly. It all made sense now. She didn't care that Pam had nearly bled out, that the silver she was bound in wasn't securing her in place; she didn't even care that her palms were still bleeding. She knew she was onto something. "You're threatened by me,"

"Hardly,"

"He's made it no secret that he thinks I'd make a good vampire,"

And that was where Sasha knew she hit the nail right on the head. Pam's eyes misted over with angry tears.

"You have no idea what it took to get him to turn me," she said lowly. "Have no fuckin' idea of what he means to me. You think I'm going to let you ruin what we have just because you come strolling in with a strange scent and a tight ass? Think again,"

Sasha glared at her, hating that a part of her actually pitied Pam. _She doesn't deserve it_ , she told herself.

"You're dumber than I thought if you think that any of those things can get between the bond that you two share. Maybe Eric is thinking with his dick a little more than you're used to, but come on, Pam. He adores you. I don't think I've ever seen the bond that you two share replicated anywhere else,"

Pam sniffled—she actually sniffled a bit. "Not even in your stupid nest?"

"That's different. All those vampires are free to come and go, and Malachi isn't their maker. And, as much as we are a family, ultimately he's our King. But you're Eric's _progeny_ —we both know what that means to him. He's not like most vampires—he doesn't act like, like he owns you. I don't care what he says—he loves you. You insult him by suggesting there's anything between _us_ that would ever come between that. And if you ever think again to even get me killed because you're afraid I'll come between that…well, let's just say that if you did manage to kill me, then I would haunt you for literally forever,"

Pam scoffed, looking away.

Sasha checked her watch; it was a lot closer to sunset than she'd intended. "I have a plan to get you out of here," she whispered so quietly even Pam might have had difficulty hearing her. "Can I free you from the silver without you going for my neck? Don't just say yes. Mean it,"

Pam considered her for a long moment. "I'll need your blood,"

"Absolutely not," said Sasha. "Forget it,"

"So you'll, what, carry me out of here?" crowed Pam. "What's Eric's plan?"

Sasha folded her arms across her chest. "I don't know. He doesn't know I'm here,"

" _What_?"

"This is a trap for him, I'm sure we can agree?"

"Obviously," it seemed that near-death didn't seem to have exhausted Pam's sass.

"He called because he could feel you in pain, and then me, so he thought something happened to both of us," Sasha summarized quickly. "He couldn't get in touch with you, and he thought we might have been together. I was still at the apartment. Nathan Chen came by pretending to have been sent by Compton. Eric was panicking because he could feel you were in pain and in danger but he was already too far away and it was almost day,"

"Then why the hell are you here? You have a death wish?" asked Pam.

"I couldn't let anything happen to you. For him," she said with a shrug, looking away. She could feel Pam's eyes on her. She cleared her throat, then softly added. "Alcide Herveaux is waiting in a truck for us,"

And then the unexpected happened. Pam began laughing. It was an awful wheezing, choking sound, and thick, coagulated blood-spittle flew out of her mouth. Sasha made a face.

"I almost get it." said Pam. Then she stilled again. "I won't be able to get far like this,"

"I've never given a vampire my blood, Pam. Not willingly anyway. You're the last one on the list I'd give any to," said Sasha.

"Did you bring me any Tru Blood? Blood from Eric's supply?" asked Pam.

Sasha bit her lip. "That, that would have been a good idea,"

"So that kind of leaves us with one choice, at least unless you can incapacitate that brute outside,"

"Fuck." said Sasha, knowing Pam was right. "Okay fine. We don't have much time anyway. And you're not biting me," she told her, moving closer to her. "I'll take the silver off _after_ ,"

"Cunt," said Pam. But it didn't hold its usual animosity.

Sasha grabbed the pocketknife Alcide had given her out of her pocket, flicking open the knife. She blanched at having to slice her palm open and, when she realized that the movies made it seem way too easy, that there was no way she could willing cut herself like that, she simply gripped the blade in her hand, then squeezed until she felt it bite through skin.

"Ow!"

The luster that had been missing from Pam's eyes surged back at the strong scent of blood, and Sasha could see it took all of her self control not to lunge. She tilted her head back, fangs out, tongue stuck out eagerly. But Sasha hesitated.

"You can't—can't read blood, can you?" she asked quietly.

"I can't do _what_?" asked Pam.

"Never mind," muttered Sasha. She moved her hand over Pam's mouth and squeezed.

The blood flowed hot and heavy, falling onto Pam's tongue thickly. She moaned the second it did, eyes rolling to the back of her head. Sasha let a little more flow, then pulled her hand away. She made quick work of the silver manacles, picking them with the pocketknife. For good measure, she took the necklace off of Pam. Sasha didn't think now was the time to collapse if Pam felt pain again.

"Fucking finally," said Pam, groaning as she stretched out her limbs. She was already healing, and she had regained some color. "You _do_ taste fucking amazing, I'll give you that Chocolate Cake,"

Sasha rolled her eyes, cradling her bleeding hand. Pam pricked a finger on a fang, then ran it over the open cut, surprising her with the gesture.

"They'll smell it out there," she said. "I could hear them. They're in another shipping container. They glamored the human to lock them in and stand guard after they were done playing with me,"

"I figured," muttered Sasha. Again she checked her watch. "Six minutes to sundown. Can you open this thing from in here?"

"Piece of cake now that I've fed. And your blood is—" Pam's gushing broke off. "Yes, I can do it," But she froze when she reached up to flick her hair over her shoulder. Her expression turned dark as she crossed to the container opening. "You're fixing it the second we're out of this mess,"

Sasha ignored the order.

"Wait—I gotta get started first," said Sasha. "And you should stick close to me,"

"What are you going to do?"  
"I'm setting this place on fire. With those two still in here," said Sasha. Pam's eyes widened. "And you can control it?"

"We're about to find out,"

"You realize _I'm_ flammable goods, right?"

Sasha held her gaze, nodding. "Oh, I'm aware."

But as she shut her eyes to concentrate, she felt Pam's cool touch on her arm. "Are you in love with my maker?"

Sasha started, eyes falling open in shock. "Not that it's any of your business," said Sasha. "But no, I'm not. I care for him, I respect Eric—I'm even draw to him, yes, but to describe any of the feelings I have for him with _that_ word is silly,"

To her surprise, Pam looked offended. "Why not?"

"You really want to talk about this right now?" snapped Sasha. "We can discuss it on girls' night out—you know, when we go shopping for a wig for you?"

"I don't like you," said Pam, turning to the door with a _hrmph._ "Do whatever is you're going to fucking do,"

"When I get it—you get that door open _quick_ ," said Sasha. Pam went to snap something back, but then she seemed to realize that she was about to be stuck in the containment unit with a witch on fire.

"Okay," Sasha rubbed her hands together, then held them both out, palms open and…

…nothing.

"Fuck," she muttered.

"I fucking knew it!" hissed Pam.

"Just let me concentrate," she murmured.

"No, you're useless! Eric can call you an _investment_ all he fucking wants, but that's bullshit! An investment is an investment because it's got a fucking return! At least when he was trying to seduce Sookie, she _actually_ was useful—!"

Sasha wouldn't realize until later that, whether Pam believed the things she said or not, in that moment she was only saying them to get her riled up in enough to activate her power. But right then, Sasha didn't put two and two together, and so it worked. Pam's words were like flint, and a second later both of Sasha's hands burst into flames.

"Shit!" exclaimed Pam, moving away from her.

"Pam, do it _now_!"

With three well-placed kicks (and witch-blood in her system), Pam was able to kick the containment door clean off it's hinges, lock and all. They both heard a strangled cry of agony—they could both guess that, perhaps hearing the commotion, the human guard had come to the door. Sasha cringed as her eyes found the heavy, metal door plastered to the wall opposite them; the man was somewhere between wall and metal.

"Forget him!" barked out Pam, seeing the flames weaken around Sasha's hands at her feeling of guilt.

She didn't have long to feel guilty, anyway. She cried out in warning as the containment unit to their right burst open, Nathan Chen and Catherine stepping out snarling, with their fangs bared. They both paused when they saw Sasha's hands.

"You didn't tell me she could do _that_ ," hissed Nathan Chen, eyes flicking to Catherine.

"I didn't know," admitted Catherine. Her wavering lasted only a moment. Her fingers curled into talons at her sides, and Sasha reminded herself of the wicked weapons vampire nails could make. "That's why Northman claimed you, isn't it? That's why—" She broke off.

"That's why Eric killed Meredith. She knew—somehow, she found out what you were," as she spoke her realization, Catherine began trembling all over. Sasha thought she might collapse into a fit of sobs, but she quickly realized she was mistaken. Catherine was so overcome

by her own fury she was shaking.

"I'll rip your heart out, witch!" she growled. Sasha yelped in surprise, fear causing her fire to flicker as Catherine's voice came out as something horrifyingly distorted, something totally unnatural.

But as Catherine charged them, Sasha shook off her fear, letting out a shout as she felt a bolt of energy burst forth. The fire around her hands and arms disappeared, only to erupt into a ring of fire around her and Pam, flames jumping six feet tall around them.

"Shit!" cursed Pam. "Don't forget _I'm_ standing right here, witch!"

Sasha ignored her. She focused on the fire around her, felt it flow through her very veins. Her fear, that constricting, suffocating emotion, was quickly giving way to a sort of excitement she wasn't familiar with. And, Sasha thought, it wasn't entirely hers; just as she thought she was feeding the flames, she thought the fire might be feeding her. The control she'd doubted didn't seem to matter; the flames danced and rolled eagerly away from the ring around her and Pam, licking up each wooden column they came across, racing up to the wooden rafters. She hadn't even thought to make that happen; as though they had a mind of their own, the flames began to devour.

Catherine and Nathan Chen screamed and yelled, zooming so fast away from the flames they were a blur. Nathan appeared next to the same maintenance door Sasha had come in, wrenching it open only to scream in pain—the sun was still up, precious few minutes that were left of it still hanging in the sky. He slammed it shut, growling as he rounded on the warehouse, eyes wild as they locked on Sasha.

"I'll bet anything the witch dies, the fire dies out," roared Nathan.

Catherine was already a step ahead of him. Using her speed to dodge burning bits of falling wood and the leaping fire—it wasn't moving like any natural fire—she reached a ladder built into the wall. She broke off one of the metal rungs and flung it straight at Sasha.

Sasha barely even realized what had happened. The second she did, her view was cut off. Pam cried out as the metal spear tore into her shoulder, embedding deep into her flesh. She almost fell into Sasha from the sheer force of the blow, but she recovered fast enough, ripping the thing out of her flesh and throwing it to the floor.

"Gonna have to try better than that, Psycho Barbie," shouted out Pam. Sasha stared at the back of Pam's bald head in wonder—then snapped out of it.

"Where the fuck is the other one?" added Pam, keeping one eye on Catherine. Sasha realized she too had lost sight of Nathan and, as though they'd communicated it, they stepped back to back, eyes searching the warehouse through the rapidly spreading fire for the vampire eluding them. Catherine was trying to circle them, get to them—Sasha had the feeling that, unlike Chen, she didn't care about escaping alive—but the flames were keeping her at bay.

 _Look up_ , a voice crackled in her ear. Sasha's eyes flicked up, obeying instinctually—

"Pam drop!" she shouted.

Nathan Chen had worked his way to a part of the ceiling untouched by fire—the metal support beams, and was dropping down on them. Sasha held her hands out to the fire at her sides, then thrust them upwards as though to punch the vampire herself. Two columns of fire followed the movements of her hands, twisting into a helix and engulfing Nathan Chen in a fire so violent he barely had enough time to scream. Sasha ducked, putting her hands above herself—but all that fluttered around her and Pam were ashes.

Nathan Chen's ashes.

"Fucking hell," said Pam, somewhat dazed as she looked from the ashes to Sasha. Sasha stared down at her own hands in amazement—she'd only _hoped_ she'd do something, and she'd done more than just blast the vampire out of the way.

"What the hell is Eric thinking?" they heard Catherine say. She too was staring at Sasha, somewhat dazed and, for the first time, she was the one to look terrified. "He's courting disaster, keeping a thing like you! You're—you're a _monster!_ What does he think he's doing, trying to control an open flame?"

Sasha faltered, and with her, the ring of fire around her.

"Don't listen to her! She's wrong!" said Pam, bravely clutching Sasha's shoulders. " _I_ was wrong—I shouldn't have questioned my maker! Eric knows _exactly_ what he's doing! She tried to kill you, me, _and_ Eric—smoke the little psycho bitch, Sasha!"

"Pam, Pam _stop_ ," hissed Sasha, squeezing her eyes shut. "The fire's already spreading everything—I don't know how to get _us_ out!"

"Clear a fucking path, princess! You're the one doing all of this!" said Pam. Sasha whirled around on her, fear in her eyes.

"No, I'm not! I started this but I'm, Pam _I'm_ not doing all of this—Ah!" she screamed as a piece wood from one of the ceiling beams fell. Pam leapt back, just barely avoiding getting hit. She watched as it burned and sparked between them, blue eyes holding fear for the first time.

Pam's blue eyes sparkled in the fire's glow. "Then who the fuck is?"

* * *

Eric had never taken as many risks with his personal safety as he did the day that his progeny's life was in danger. But, upon deciding that there was no way in hell that even the fucking sun was going to keep him between him and his progeny, he'd done the only thing he could at that point.

He commandeered the plane.

It was relatively easy because, in this one thousand odd years or so, he'd commandeered a total of forty-two vehicles, give or take a few dozen. A private jet with twenty-vampires?

Piece of cake.

They'd tried to argue, at first. When he informed them that his progeny was being held hostage, most of them gave up on trying to convince him to return to the mission at hand. Those that did not he took mental note of as being suspicious.

By the time he had landed back in Shreveport, LA. The jet was a bloodbath. There were only seven vampires he'd deemed trustworthy _enough_ and not under Catherine's thumb, and he hadn't given a damn about double-checking his suspicions before redecorating the interior of the aircraft red with the others. Killing those vampires had at least relieved some of his anxiety, and he was able to think with a clearer head. Though some had been afraid to with what they realized was a caged lion, the younger vampires had given into their dead sleep. Some of the youngest hadn't even woken through the commotion and killing—they'd be in for a nasty shock when they did.

Waiting was the worst bit. But Eric had no choice. The aircraft was light-tight but the hangar was not; on such short notice, he'd barely been able to gain permission from air traffic control to land. He'd sent a message along to Compton that the mission had been compromised and that they'd need a clean up crew before things became messy with the human TSA. He wasn't planning sticking around after sunset.

Eric glared at his watch. Though she was no longer in pain or terrified for her life, Eric was worried about Pam. If she said the wrong thing—if that tongue of hers got the better of her, it was impossible to tell how Catherine might act. Or, worse, Eric knew exactly how she'd react.

He reached out for their connection once again, focusing on it, wrapping up everything he felt for his progeny and sending it to her in one incredibly strong mental blast—a promise that he was on his way.

Then, tentatively, he reached out to his witch, to check that she was still safely tucked away in his apartment…

Eric frowned. She'd done a better job than expected at hiding their bond away. He searched for it, grasped it tightly…and traced it back to a familiar location. The same place his progeny was.

" _Fucking witch_ ," he blazed furiously, jumping up to his feet from the jet's cushy armchair. He began pacing the length of the aircraft—then he froze. He stood taller, straighter, missing that oppressing feeling on his chest. The cooler air.

Sunset. _Sunset_.

Eric flung open the jet door without preamble, rushing out of the hangar and into the air before a single vampire had risen from their travel coffins.

* * *

Eric knew he had found the right place even before dropping out of the sky. What must have once been a warehouse on the edge of the water was being devoured by flames. He dropped to the gravelly ground outside of it harder than he'd meant to— _Pam—_

"Northman!"

He spun around and bared his fangs threateningly at the shape jogging towards him. He only retracted his fangs when the familiar sent assaulted him—werewolf, friendly. Sort of.

"The hell are you doing here, Herveaux?" he snapped.

"Your progeny and the girl are still in there, Northman," said Alcide, sounding out of breath. "I've done a lap of the whole building—several times. There's no way in or out—fire's all over the place,"

" _No_ ," he gritted out, starting for it. But the werewolf grabbed his arm, yanking him back. "Northman, hey! Don't be stupid—you'll go up like kindle!"

"My progeny is in there!" he hissed. How was it that he was having the same argument, but about a different person? He remembered the way he had felt when Sasha had been inside of her burning house—but this? With _both_ his progeny and his witch…

"I called the fire department— _Holy shit!_ I can't believe it!"

Eric spun around, blinking away the blood that had collected at the corners of his eyes. One of the doors burst open and Pam came running out, magically unharmed by the flames…

…and bald?

Eric didn't have time to ponder the fact. He rushed forth and swept her into his arms, pressing his lips against her temple and ignoring the heat radiating off the burning building. Then he pulled away, checking her over for injuries. Though she had quite a bit of blood staining her and her clothes, she seemed fine, other than the apparent baldness.

"I feared…" he trailed off, pressing his forehead to hers. Her eyes shut as she leaned into him. He didn't have to say it.

"Sasha?" he asked, pulling away some. "Where is she?"

"Eric…" Pam trailed off regretfully.

"You left that girl in there?" shouted Alcide, coming around angrily. Eric snarled at him, fangs out once more as the wolf stepped stepped up to his progeny.

"I _tried_ getting her out—Eric you've gotta believe me—but she told me to go…Eric I think she's lost it," admitted Pam. "She's—there's something very wrong with her, with what she can do. She was _pleading_ with it, Eric,"

"What are you talking about, Pam?" he asked urgently.

"The fire, Eric," said Pam. "She was pleading with it to stop, like she wasn't the one doing it—she's as crazy as Catherine,"

"Catherine," remembered Eric. "Is she—"

"Dead," said Pam quickly. "She and Nathan both."

"How did you get through the fire?" he asked.

"I don't know, Eric—she told me to go, and I did—"

"Then I'm going in," said Eric.

"Eric no!" she shouted, grabbing for him. "Her blood! I had her blood! That has to be it—you can't burn for her, Eric!"

"I won't!" Eric called back over his shoulder.

Then he sped into the warehouse.

Sasha Buckley was not ready to die. That was not why she remained in the Fire, not why she'd all but pushed Pam out of the warehouse while she still believed the Fire would spare her. She stayed because she wasn't ready to let _everything else_ _die_. Because that was, it seemed, what the Fire wanted. It craved to devour everything in it's path, and currently only the warehouse still standing was what stopped it from rolling down the gravel road and to the city teeming with heat and things that would melt and burn and wither away.

And the Fire wanted it all.

"Please, _please stop this!_ " Sasha screamed. She was crying, sobbing as she pleaded with the Fire leaping and spiraling and burning around her, the Fire that in turn begged her to join it in its path of destruction, to sate their hunger together. Because if Sasha was certain of anything, it was that she was no longer doing this; that though she might have meant to spark a flame, she had somehow done so much more, had called forth something much darker and powerful. She didn't know what it was, only that it was here and out of control and, that if she didn't stop it, _it_ would never stop.

"Sasha!"

"Eric!"

He was covered in blood, even his face was splattered with it, but that didn't stop her from collapsing into his arms when he reached her.

"What are you doing walking _into_ the Fire, you crazy vampire?!" she screamed at him over the roar of the Fire.

"Believe it or not," Eric shouted back. "Of all the ways I'd like to eat you, barbequed isn't one of them!"

"Eric this isn't the time!" she cried. "This—this Fire is going to destroy _everything_ and it's my fault!"

"Only if you let it, Sasha," said Eric. She saw him wince—the heat of the flames was hurting him, at least, even if he'd somehow been unscathed by them originally. Or perhaps the Fire had changed its mind, or didn't like what he was saying. "The monsters we create, they only have as much power as we allow them,"

"What?" she whispered. The words echoed in her brain—bouncing around and triggering a memory long forgotten. She'd heard a similar phrase once before, told to her by another vampire, old and wise—even older and wiser than Eric. She frowned. There was something else buried in the recesses of her memory, of her mind; somewhere in that part of her that she was only now beginning to uncover and understand. Words foreign to her danced on the tip of her tongue, urging her to speak them and embrace them.

Sasha slipped her hand into Eric's, praying that he remained untouched by the fire. Then she shut her eyes, and as strongly as she could she spoke out, " _Mi nithem ten,_ "

* * *

It was a long night for all involved.

They all disappeared from the burning warehouse before police or the fire department could arrive—after Pam disabled all nearby cameras. Then they'd piled into Herveaux's truck. Alcide had a lot of questions—he hadn't been the only one—and they all took turns filling each other in on just how they'd all gotten to that point.

All of them except Sasha; Sasha had remained rather quiet the entire journey, her eyes trained on her hands. Eric, who'd sat in the back with her and allowed Pam the front seat with the wolf, casually slipped a hand over her knee, giving it a tight squeeze and then moving to rest his hand on her thigh. Though Sasha barely seemed to register the gesture, it didn't go unnoticed by either were or vampire sitting upfront; Alcide glanced at him curiously through the rearview mirror, and Pam scoffed in annoyance.

Pam explained that Nathan Chen had ambushed her at the club, managing to subdue her long enough to bind her in silver and take her to the warehouse. Eric felt anger ripple through him, and his only regret was that he hadn't been able to stake Nathan Chen himself.

"They took turns resting and bleeding me throughout the day," Pam had said. Though she said it casually, he could sense that she was still unhappy that she'd fallen trap to those vampires. "Then _she_ showed up,"

Any questions Alcide had about Sasha, he wisely kept to himself. Eric worked out that the were knew that she was more than ordinary; he trusted that he was smart enough not to spread the information around.

Since Eric's apartment still wasn't one-hundred percent secure, Eric had Alcide drop them off at Pam's apartment. She was thrilled about allowing the witch in, but she didn't fight him, either.

For her part, Sasha didn't seem all that up for a fight, anyway. She appeared in somewhat of a daze, and he couldn't blame her; she'd been through a lot tonight, and neither of them were one-hundred percent sure of what had happened. But with both his girls safe…Eric wasn't too concerned with worrying about it tonight. It would be a concern for another night. He felt strangely high, and the assurance that his progeny was safe was enough to override the anger he'd harbored all day. Now he was eager to be close to her, to bond with her once more.

"Can I shower?" Sasha asked quietly.

"I'll find you some things. Come with me," said Pam, sounding only prim and almost polite with his witch. "This way,"

Eric listened as Pam led Sasha to the second floor bathroom, showing her how to use the high-tech shower and where towels and body wash was. A smile tugged at his lips as he heard Pam's next words.

"I meant what I said at the warehouse. I don't like you," said Pam. "And I wish you'd disappear. But if I have to tolerate you for now, then _fine_. I'd be lying if I said I was sorry for trying to off you. But I will say thank you for coming after me tonight, because I know you did it for Eric,"

It was a more genuine thank you than he'd heard from her in years, and Eric was impressed.

"I don't like you much either. You're welcome," said Sasha. Eric chuckled under his breath, moving to the downstairs bathroom.

Pam's apartment was far larger than his. She'd bought the penthouse apartment in her building and then, unsatisfied by the closet space, had decided to also purchase the apartment beneath to combine the two into a massive living space that resembled a high end designer fashion house.

Eric slipped into the shower he typically used when he visited, eagerly washing off dead vampire from him. Pam joined him not long after, stripping of her half-burned, half bloodied clothes and stepping under the steam.

They both opted for a cold, _cold_ shower, even though it made it a little more difficult to wash off the grime. There was a moment as they worked around each other, sifting through Pam's collection of bath soaps and body scrubs.

"Well, there's that at least," said Eric, smirking at his progeny as he reached for a bottle of shampoo. He squeezed a generous amount into the palm of his hand.

"What?"

"You don't have to worry about your hair smelling like smoke for the next week and a half,"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously at him. "This was your stupid little witch—you better not have known about this, Eric, or I swear,"

" _She_ did this?" he asked in surprise. "How?"

"That stupid little necklace of hers. The one _you_ made me wear," she accused. "It started getting very hot—that's how I realized something was wrong—I even almost got the upper hand on Chen when all of my fucking hair _fell off_ , he was so surprised. But he's older and faster, and I am so glad he got burnt to a crisp,"

"I didn't know about the hair," said Eric. "Though I suspected there might be some…unpleasant side effect to the charm,"

"And you still made me wear it?" she snapped, yanking a fuchsia loofa out of his hands and using it to scrub at her body. "Fuck you, Eric,"

Eric raised an eyebrow at her in warning. "You tried to have her killed. I thought she deserved trying to get even. She assured me it wouldn't harm you,"

Pam scoffed. "And you trusted her? Why?" she demanded.

"Because, Pamela, she could have demanded her maker punish her, something she was well within her rights to ask for. But she did not, preferring to settle the matter herself,"

Eric unhooked the showerhead from the wall, using the spray to remove soapsuds from both their bodies. His hands skimmed over her body with care, stopping to kiss a spot here or there where he felt still pained her, though the outside flesh had healed. She was still upset, but he could feel how pleased she was each time lips grazed her skin.

"So you had her blood," said Eric conversationally. "Anything interesting about that?"

"It was tasty," she said flatly. Then she frowned, remembering something. "She asked me if I knew how to read blood,"

"Did she?" asked Eric in surprise, a small smile playing at his lips. "I'm beginning to think she'll never cease to amaze me,"

Pam made a face. "What the fuck does that even mean? Reading blood?" her question came out as something of a whine.

"It's a rare talent, but immensely useful if you can manage it," said Eric. "It doesn't develop, typically, until one crosses the five-hundred year mark and, even then, with varying degrees of strength. Imagine tasting a creature and knowing everything about them—more than just where they are, what they're feeling. A single drop from the source and you could, theoretically, know that creature's deepest fear and darkest desire, know their every truth,"

"I didn't know that," said Pam, her annoyance souring her tone. "How does _she_ know?"

"Most don't," assured Eric. "If a vampire has such an ability, they don't parade it around, for obvious reasons. It's likely that King Jakande warned her about such a thing—for someone like her, a single drop of blood would reveal her witch ancestry immediately to a vampire that knew how to read blood,"

"And you don't find that suspicious?" pressed Pam.

"Do I find it suspicious that Sasha Buckley was contrary to you knowing her more intimately than she knows herself?" Eric asked skeptically. "The girl thinks like a vampire, Pam. She guards her secrets every bit as jealously as we do,"

She quieted at that, reaching for a comb. Then she seemed to remember her hairless situation.

"Eric…do you regret turning me? Ever?" she hated how brittle her voice sounded as she asked, but she had to know. His eyes widened in alarm.

"Perish the thought, Pamela. You know I never have," said Eric. "I've never been surer about anything else, ever,"

"Then why aren't I enough, Eric?" she asked. "Why do you want _her_?"

Eric stared down at his progeny, puzzled. He couldn't understand what she was saying; though they occasionally enjoyed a good fuck, she could never provide him the kind of companionship he might find in other women, nor vice versa, could he her. She knew it very well; she'd been the first to figure that out decades ago. So how could she wonder such a thing? Had that changed for her now?

"I don't understand, Pamela," he muttered.

"It took you eight hundred years to make turn another— _me_ —and that's longer than most vampires. You didn't even consider it until I'd slit my wrists in front of you. So why _now_ , and why _her_?"

"Pamela," he murmured. Eric thought he understood now, and he was willing to go as far as saying that Pam's problem wasn't ultimately with Sasha at all, so much as the idea of her. Pam was afraid of being replaced by another progeny.

"Did you think I'd go eternity without turning another?" he asked her.

"Yes," she said petulantly. "Fine, no. I hadn't exactly thought about it in great detail. But I've only been yours barely two hundred years, Eric!"

"You will always be my first-turned, Pam," Eric said steadily. "The bond I share with you I will never share with anyone else. Ever. Your insecurities are unlike you and for good reason—there's no merit to them,"

"So you don't want to turn her?" pressed Pam.

"I'll admit, the idea intrigues me," said Eric. "Sasha showed great loyalty to me today; she's about as fond of you as you are of her, yet still she risked her life to save yours. If that doesn't make her worthy of our blood, I don't know what does,"

"She's not in love with you, you know," retorted Pam. "I asked,"

"You did what?" Eric asked. " _Pamela,_ "

"What? I wanted to know. Don't you?"

Eric sighed, stepping out of the shower and wrapping a thick, navy blue towel around his hips. "What she feels for me is not of my concern," he finally said, holding out a second towel to Pam.

"Bullshit. You don't mean that,"

"Yes, I do," Eric said patiently. "Even if she did think herself in love with me—it wouldn't matter. I can't return those kinds of feelings. I could simulate them for a time, maybe, but it wouldn't last. I'd get bored,"  
"But you like the idea of turning her,"

"Yes," said Eric fiercely. "You would too, if you didn't allow yourself to be blinded by this jealousy. When you find someone like her, it becomes instinct—the desire to create another vampire is not something I have felt often. So far I have only acted upon it once."

Pam scowled, turning away from him. "There's something very wrong with that girl, Eric. It scares me,"

"Pam—"

" _Don't_. If you'll listen to anything I say about her, then let it be this: she's not right. She says she had no control over that fire…maybe she was right. She started it, but she wasn't controlling it in the end. I don't know what happened after I left—but Eric, that fire wasn't moving naturally. It was burning down that warehouse methodically, all while your little witch was down on her knees begging for it to stop. And what it did to Catherine—"

"She burned?" asked Eric.

Pam turned to face him. "Yeah she burned, Eric. _Slowly_. When Nathan Chen attacked us—Sasha defended us. He turned to ashes in seconds. But Catherine…Eric she burned for _minutes_. Whether it was your witch or…or _something_ else, she suffered. Greatly."

Eric considered this for a moment. Then he dipped his head. "I understand,"

He did understand what Pam was saying, what her concerns were. But Eric had already made his mind up about Sasha Buckley, had the moment he'd walked into a fire for her, because whether she'd meant to or not, she was one of the rare creatures he'd met in his long life that had managed to brand themselves onto a part of him.

* * *

 _Crisis, shower, repeat. Crisis, shower, repeat._ The thought crossed Sasha's mind as she stepped into the shower. Though she was mentally exhausted, she found that her body didn't feel the same way; a current of heat, though not unpleasant, was running beneath her skin. But unlike before, where the fire in her veins was volatile and threatening to burst out, it seemed to have melded into the blood in her veins, at rest and content to have found the place it belonged.

Sasha sank to the floor of the shower, letting the spray above fall over her like hot rainfall. _Where it belonged_ ; was there even any truth to that? All that she'd been taught about Affinities from Cookie…this didn't match up to anything. Affinities were able to tap into specific elements and mold them to their needs, some with better accuracy than others. But this was something so beyond that it scared her.

Because that was the most frightening thing of all; she felt that she had invited something into her body, and it had taken up residence somewhere between muscle and skin, in the very recesses between bone and marrow.

Sasha worried she'd crossed over into some territory she was both unprepared for and ill-equipped to handle, that by speaking those words at the warehouse, she had enacted something irrevocable.

She stayed under the spray for a while, trying to sort out her thoughts. She had to talk to Cookie about this—there was no one else who could help her now. She clutched at her hair, crying quietly, letting the shower muffle the sound, as Catherine's screams of agony echoed over and over and over again in her brain.

She stepped out of the shower, putting her hair up in a wet topknot with the hair tie at her wrist. But as she patted her feet against the soft bathmat just outside of the tub, her eyes found her reflection in the mirror across from the shower. She froze.

There was a tattoo stamped across her skin. Starting beneath her right rib, twisting around her waist and coming back around her left shoulder, was a twisting snake, it's head resting over her heart. In it's maw was its tail.

Wide-eyed, and with trembling fingers, Sasha grazed a portion of the tattoo. It shivered beneath her touch, as though the great snake had been tickled in its sleep. She quickly yanked her clothes on, unwilling to keep looking at the ouroboros for any longer.

 _What had she done?_

* * *

Sasha stepped out of the bathroom into the bedroom that Pam had directed her to earlier in the evening. Fortunately, Pam had provided her with a long sleeve shirt and a pair of too-long track pants, and she didn't have to worry about explaining the tattoo—mostly because she had no idea how to go about it.

The guest room was already occupied. Eric had been pacing the length of it but, when he entered, he froze. His eyes roved over her once.

"You foolish, _foolish_ witch," said Eric. But his voice sounded relieved, belying any insult to his words, and she was stunned when he crossed the room and swept her into a tight hug, burying his face in her neck. He breathed her in once, then pulled away, his hand on her cheek, thumb stroking her jaw.

"I—" he seemed at a loss for words, and so instead he pressed a strong, heated kiss to her lips. " _Min lilla eld_ …thank you," Eric was breathless by his own gratitude, eyes sparkling something wonderful and bright as he stared down at her. "Saving my progeny's life…you can't even begin to imagine what you've done,"  
He was right about that, in a way he himself did not know. Sasha bit her lip; a dark part of her whispered _was it worth it_? She hiked up the collar of her shirt higher.

"Little closer to being even, I guess," she said softly.

"Being even," he chuckled. "Sasha, when the time comes that you decide you are willing to give up the sun forever in favor of the moon…"

" _Eric_ ,"

She was absolutely stunned—so much so that she forgot about the Fire, about the tattoo…about everything but Eric. Finding a vampire willing to turn you was no small feet, easier these days, but difficult still. But for a vampire like Eric, who valued his bloodline so much…

"I don't know what to say," she said.

"Say nothing," said Eric. "I know you don't want it today, nor tomorrow. Perhaps you don't even want it to be me. But remember my offer ten, twenty years down the line, when you realize that, for someone like you, just one lifetime won't enough."

"Thank you," she finally managed to say. "That's no small thing you offer,"

"No, it isn't," said Eric seriously. "And truthfully, it is the first time I have ever made the offer. Even Pam, though she wanted the change, didn't understand what she was asking for then, not like you do, given your history with my kind. Something to consider,"

"Okay," she said. Eric cocked his head to the side, watching her curiously. "You realize you don't have to hide your end of the bond from me, now that this disaster is behind us?  
 _Is it?_

"I know," said Sasha.

"Then why are you still hiding from me? I'm not hiding from you," said Eric. He wasn't; if anything, Sasha thought, he was purposefully pushing his emotions towards her. From him she received a strong sense of adoration for Pam, of the complex emotions of their bond, so that she might understand the depth of what she'd done for him.

But there was more than just gratitude. She recognized the heat of lust, recognized that it burned for her, and she understood that he was trying to communicate to her just how much he wanted her. His hands had moved down to her hips, slipping just beneath the hem of her t-shirt, drawing small circles against her skin.

"Now's not the time, Eric," she muttered tiredly.

"Never is, is it?" said Eric. He sounded disappointed but unsurprised. He placed a curiously soft kiss to her mouth, leaning his forehead against hers. "Talk to me, Sasha,"

"I just want to sleep, Eric. It's been a long—it's been a long week," she said.

"This isn't that," said Eric. "Not only that. Something's up,"

"No it isn't,"

"Yes, it is," Eric said calmly. "You start shutting me out whenever there is,"

She couldn't argue with his logic there. But she could only shrug. She felt, well she couldn't quite explain what she felt, least of all to _him_. She'd certainly been making risky decisions lately, but this might have been the riskiest of them all: she felt incredibly silly having undertaken in now that she had the ouroboros branded on her skin, all for Eric, a vampire that she what? That she cared about, liked because he was enigmatic? What kind of reasoning was that?

"Fine. For now," he told her. "If you want to rest, I'll leave you to it."

There was that flash of disappointment once more from, then it was gone, and he was no longer sending his emotions her way. She was grateful for it; she could barely manage her own at the moment.

But before he reached the door, the stopped, flashing her a crooked smile. "There is one thing we should discuss, my fierce little Valkyrie,"

"What?"

"Pam's hair. Or lack thereof," he said.

Sasha shrugged. "An accident," she said dismissively. Pam's baldness was the least of her concern at the moment.

" _Sasha_ ,"

"It really was! It was supposed to turn her hair green. She shouldn't even be complaining. The protective charm worked, didn't it? Besides, she wasn't the one collapsing from the exhaustion and pain of the spell all day, was she?"

Eric lifted an eyebrow. "…I'll suggest a wig until it grows back," he conceded.

"Do that," Sasha snapped saucily. "And, and can you maybe stay until I fall asleep?"  
If he looked surprised by her request he didn't show it. He waited until she was tucked under the blankets, then came and stretched out across from her. Sasha turned onto her side to face him.

"Whatever it is, I'll help you through it, Sasha," he told her. She couldn't see him in the total darkness of the room, could only feel him next to her, the solid presence sprawled out next to her, his cool breath when it fanned across her face. Then, quietly, he added. "I don't want…I don't want you to regret saving Pam's life,"

Eric had been there for her when he hadn't trusted her, and he had been there every time since. He was here now that she asked.

"I'm glad we met, Eric," she decided. He chuckled softly, reaching over to tug her hairband out of her hair. His fingers combed through the curls she knew he favored so much.

"I'm starting to think we had no choice in the matter, Miss Buckley,"

"Maybe," she said. "Still, despite everything, I'm glad,"

"The feeling is mutual,"

He kissed her again and, when a tear escaped the corner of her eye, he wiped it away with his thumb and held her tighter to him.

* * *

 **AND THATS A WRAP. Sort of. Not really lol. There's still an epilogue to go, but then that'll be the end of Book 1. That said, I need YOUR HELP! There are obviously still a thousand and one questions revolving around Sasha's personal history and witch background and whatnot, and because i know all the answers, i want to make sure i don't gloss over them for you guys and make it TOO dragged out. That said, it would be helpful to me if in your next reviews you'd please leave a question or two or however many that you really want answered! If it fits in with the plot/pacing of the story, i'll try to have then answered in the next book!**

and **Please review. It's disappointing seeing how many people read the story each week/follow along, but then don't review.**

 **I'm very excited for the next book! As i've said before, it will have a change of scenery as well as a change of pace and time jump: book 2 about a year from these events, book two will mostly focus on Sasha having really come into her powers as well as her relationship with Eric.**

 _Lucy_ : Yes there is definitely a sequel! I was glad to finally bring Eric around the tarot cards, too. As far as Sookie, _not yet_. She won't be in the next book at all, at least not as a physical presence, and that's because in my story, Sookie will have been gone for about two years, not one. I don't really like to cast people for characters usually, because i like letting people use their own imaginations based on my descriptions, but i'll admit that i tend to picture Tessa T as well lol. It wasn't done on purpose, but i later watched War Dogs and saw she had scenes with ASkars so that worked lol.

 _Susa: _Hello and welcome to the story! Eric/Sasha tension is my favorite and is slowly turning me evil lol. Thanks for dropping a review!

 _Liza: _Yeah the push and pull between them is quite something. When Eric wants something he just wants it; he doesn't have to analyze why and the how and the depth of it. But he's a vampire with eternity ahead of him. Sasha is mortal, and so she's a lot more worried about what giving in would mean.

 _Guest: Glad you enjoyed it! Sorry for the wait!_

 _Guest: Here it is! :)_

 _Nox: I_'ve been so exhausted with constantly working and managing some other things, but when i read your review i smiled so wide i thought my lips would crack lol. So I just HAD to power through and finish editing for you! Here's the next chapter and thanks so much for reading my story! Appreciate the love and support! 3


	25. Epilogue

**Epilogue: De Novo**

Double, Double,

Toil and trouble,

Fire burn and

Vampire crumble.

"… _then who the fuck is?" It was unnerving to see Pam unsettled, and to see the fierce vampire afraid only added to the terror shooting through Sasha. But unlike the other times, where her terror had put an immediate halt to her magic, the fire continued to burn around them, embers and smoke filling the warehouse and her lungs, making her eyes water. She couldn't understand why this time was so different—how everything had spun out of control so fast. Terrifying as the fire at Sam's bungalow had been—it was a tame spark compared to this._

" _I don't know!" Sasha screamed back at the vampire, feeling like her throat might tear from the force of her shout mixing with the thick, sooty air. "I just know it isn't_ me _!"_

 _Something laughed—it was a throaty, harsh cackle, echoing around her. Sasha swore it was the fire. "Stop it!" Sasha screamed, whipping around, searching through the near-blindingly hot flames for a source behind the laughter. She wasn't so sure what she was expecting to find._

 _Pam gripped her arm harshly, forcing Sasha to look at her. It dawned on her that Pam wasn't hearing the same thing she was, the same malicious whispers and cackles._

" _Who the fuck are you talking to? You outta your damn mind? YOU started this, now YOU get this under control!"_

 _Sasha ignored Pam, twisting her arm out of her grasp painfully. Her eyes darted around wildly, searching for any sign of who, what was doing this. She thought she saw a face here and there in the flames, an arm and a fist—maybe she really was going crazy._

 _A shrill scream pierced their ears. Both Sasha and Pam turned towards the sound. Catherine's arm had been badly burned, and she snatched it away from a rising tower of fire, cradling it against her chest as she staggered backwards on a small, unmarked patch of concrete._

" _Pam! If you have any love for Eric at all, you will kill this witch!" screamed Catherine. Sasha gasped in horror as a vine of fire slithered across the floor, coming to wrap around Catherine's ankle. Catherine let out a bloodcurdling screech of pain, faltering in her step. "Kill her! She's enchanted him! If he thinks he can control something so destructive,_ he's _the crazy one!"_

 _Sasha swallowed, taking a step away from Pam. She didn't trust the vampire heed Catherine's warning. Her hands shook at her sides as she tried to summon her courage. Terrified as she was, she would defend herself against Pam if she had to. If it came down to it. And for her part, Pam looked like she was considering it._

 _"You must do this for your maker, Pa-ahhh!" Catherine screamed again, and they both turned to look at her. Another vine of glowing flame, this one thicker, curled around her ankle. The fire coiled around her like a snake, up her thigh and torso, straight up to her neck. It slithered across her open mouth like a gag, searing the flesh of her lips and the corners of her mouth, splitting her face into the most terrible smile Sasha had ever seen._

 _Pam and Sasha looked on as Catherine, defying the true death, did not turn to ash._

 _"How the fuck…" Pam trailed off._

 _Catherine should have been burning. Her clothes were certainly burning: tattered, singed bits peeled off of her. And they could both see that her skin was burning—cooking rather, judging by how slowly it happened, and the acrid smell in the air._

 _"Fucking hell," muttered Pam, speaking for both of them. The rest of the fire was forgotten around them as it waged; they were unable to look away from the horror show that was Catherine. She was slowly collapsing to the floor, but still she burned slowly, as though the fire was taking its time licking strip by strip of flesh off the vampire, enjoying it's meal immensely._

 _Something, somewhere in the warehouse, purred in contentment and Sasha knew that whatever she had summoned, was doing just that._

 _Enjoying its meal._

* * *

Sasha jerked awake, breathing harshly as she tried to regain her bearings.

She was at Pam's house. She was safe. The Fire was gone. Catherine was gone. Safe.

But that constricting feeling was still wrapped tightly around her throat, constricting her very ribs, and she climbed out of her sweat-soaked bed. She trudged to the bathroom.

She looked like crap, Sasha decided when she flicked the bathroom light on. Her eyes had deep bags beneath them, an ugly purple color that seemed to drain the color out of the rest of her face. Her hair had become a wild, frizzy halo around her, and her lips were incredibly chapped, rough from too much coffee and not enough water. Even as she realized this, she turned the faucet on, cupping her hands beneath the cold water and drinking deeply.

She breathed deeply as she straightened upright, wincing a little at the pain at her ribs. Her right arm ached too, but she remembered that at some point in the night Pam had grabbed it tightly and, sure enough, when she rolled up the sleeve of her sweater, she saw that it was mottled green and purple. It was as she was inspecting her arm in the mirror that she noticed something poking out of the collar.

Sasha ripped her sweater off, staring at bare top half in shock. The ouroboros tattoo had been more than just a shock last night; but she saw that it had _moved_ , that now it's head and tail were resting on her hip, and part of it's long body was plastered around her ribs— _was that the tightness she felt there?_ —and another part around her throat.

Her body began trembling the longer she stared at the tattoo. It had even gained color; where last night it had been a brown not much darker than her skin, something akin to henna, now it was clearly defined by dark lines and faint splashes of red and oranges and greens.

"Shit."

Sasha was gone not much long after. It was just after midday and, though she clearly needed the sleep, there would be no restful sleep until she figured out how to remove the tattoo and could banish Catherine's screams from her memory. She wasn't very hopeful of the likelihood of either happening too easily, but she had to try, for her own goddam sanity.

Though Eric had been absent from her side when she'd risen, he had set aside his key for her—much to Pam's contrition, Sasha was sure. His thoughtfulness did not go unappreciated; she'd half expected to be kept under lock and key, but next to his key had been a note with money for food if she decided to venture out. Then again, had her little rescue mission gone south, and she ended up the cause of Pam meeting the true death…well, she could imagine that Eric would literally still be ripping her apart.

And he'd be right to. He'd specifically told her to stay out of the way, so why had she gone behind his back to save his progeny? It was a question she'd asked herself and answered over and over again even yesterday, and yet each answer she came up with didn't satisfy her. Sasha didn't just take risks—she took _calculated_ risks, the ones she was willing to bet money, her _life_ would pan out in her favor. Last night have not been a calculated risk, and now that Sasha could barely recognize her own body, it was troubling to realize that she couldn't recognize herself.

Eric might have intended that money for groceries—the two hundred dollars had been a sweet reminder of how out of touch he was when it came to basic human needs—but Sasha used the money to take a cab to Bon Temps. In the car Sasha grew distracted by her messages. She was a little surprised to find a message from Alcide Herveaux. He'd texted to express his hope that she was all right, and a subtle but appreciated nod at the fact that he had no intention of revealing her secret. The next text he'd sent actually made her laugh; he'd quite plainly told her that if she wanted to catch up over a beer sometime he was available, otherwise she if it was more vampires and burning buildings, that she should lose his number.

She texted back quickly with a thank you—not that a text was enough—and promised to make sure Eric paid him what she had promised.

The cab driver asked her if she had the right address when he parked in front of Montgomery Manor. He was eyeing the decrepit building dubiously, finally twisting around and assuring her that he'd take her somewhere else free of charge, that she shouldn't worry if this was the wrong place, and that a sweet girl like her was clearly going through something.

He was a nice guy; clearly he was using polite speak to say, _kid, you look like crap. Let me take you somewhere you can get help._

"Keep it," she told him, handing him a hundred dollar bill.

Sasha all but ran into the house the second the cab disappeared down the driveway, searching frantically for her grandmother. Cookie materialized right in front of her, and Sasha walked straight through her, a chill running down her spine as she did so.

"Come to yell some more?" Cookie asked bitterly.

What Sasha wanted to do was have a flesh and blood grandmother to collapse against, one that would hold her and stroke her hair and tell her that she loved her and that they'd be all right. But Cookie was dead and, if their budding relationship was so rocky, Sasha knew it wasn't just the ghost's fault. And she'd done enough crying, and so she did the only thing she could do now.

"I'm sorry," said Sasha.

Cookie watched her wearily as Sasha fell into a rickety chair in the kitchen.

"You're sorry?" repeated Cookie.

"Yes. I'm still…I'm still angry with you. I don't trust that you've been entirely honest with me about my mother—at least, I don't think you're telling me everything you know. You've told me her favorite color is purple, the things she could do with her powers, that she liked to make me hot cakes on Sundays. But nothing more. And yet… I've got nowhere else to go about this, and…"

Sasha sighed, taking her jacket off and lifting up her shirt with trembling hands. "I need help, Grams,"

Cookie let out a rare curse as her eyes found the ouroboros pasted across her granddaughter's body.

"Tell me everythin' that happened to you, baby girl,"

* * *

"What happened after you spoke the words?" asked Cookie. It was demoralizing to see that she appeared completely dazed by her tale; Sasha had been hoping, perhaps stupidly, that her grandmother would crack a smile and tell her, " _Ah, yes, baby girl. This is exactly what I've been trying to teach you all along. One quick spell and you won't have to worry about none of this again."_

Okay, it had been totally stupid to hope for such a thing.

"Um, I said those words—emphasis on how I don't know what they mean, or how I even knew to say them other than instinct—and the Fire sort of just, it was incredible. It was like I hit rewind—it all began retracted from the inside of the warehouse and it just, it condensed into this fiery tornado, and then it wrapped around me and just—it was like my body absorbed it. I barely remember walking out of there—Eric half carried me out, I think, I was in such shock. I remember the warehouse was still on fire on the outside, but it, it was a different fire. Normal," recounted Sasha, shivering at the memory.

"You still feel like your magic is going to explode outta you?" asked Cookie. "Your fire?"  
"Not really," said Sasha. "It feels…it feels a little more settled, I guess,"

"It sounds to me like you invited the Fire into you," said Cookie. She didn't appear terrified by the prospect, which settled some of Sasha's panic, but she didn't sound pleased, either. "Child, you are one complicated case,"

"Explain. Please,"

"You knowin' them words wasn't strange for a witch. We've come to rely on them often these days, but magic ain't guided by that. It's guided by emotion and intent. We use words to focus those emotions, that intent. There are some forces that only recognize the old languages, tongues that are dead to most of the world. Some things will only respond to those languages and nothing else. You spoke the right language to the Fire, and so it bent to your will,"

Sasha leaned her elbows on her knees, closed fist against her mouth as she took a deep breath. "So we are talking about Fire—Fire as an entity? Because I swear I heard it speak, laugh—it moved on it's own,"

Cookie paced the kitchen fretfully. "I don't know that I should be telling you this…"

"Are you kidding me? Did you not listen to what I just spent the last hour telling you?" Sasha asked in disbelief. She jumped up to her feet. "Maybe I was stupid coming here, thinking you'd be straight with me—"

"No, child, no…I only mean…this is beyond even me. I don't have experience with Elementals—not like this. What you're talking about…it's beyond me, beyond most witches. You need to talk to someone that understands these things,"

"So I'm screwed—wait," Sasha.. "You know someone, know who can help me,"

"His name is Emmett Lafleur," said Cookie slowly. "Though he comes from a long line of very powerful Earth Affinities, he is of Fire. He is the only Fire Affinity that I know of—certainly the most powerful and best equipped to help you,"

"But?" said Sasha. "There's always one, isn't there?"

"But," Cookie conceded with a heavy sigh. "I might just trust him even less than I trust Eric Northman,"

Well that was certainly saying something.

"Wait—you're _still_ hung up on Eric?" asked Sasha. "That _vampire_ walked into a burning building for me?"

"Exactly," said Cookie. "What vampire would do such a thing? There is a cunning mind behind those fangs, don't you forget that. He wants something from you—something he's willing to risk his life for. That vampire is planning something, and I fear you're a part of his design,"

There was no use defending Eric to Cookie. "So Emmett Lafleur; what makes him so dangerous?"

"Other than the fact that he's a Fire Affinity?" said Cookie. "Man's always lustin' after three things: power, wealth, and youth. I reckon he'da become a fang himself if he could guarantee keepin' his witch powers,"

"He goes by Cousin Emmett," continued Cookie. "Don't let the name fool you. Man is a politician at the end of the day, and he's done good work for our kind. He's created a community for us, and he takes in a lot of our kind, teaches them how they can live a life in today's world without having to give up their magic. It's if you've got real power that he poses a danger to you. If you're not loyal to him…well he don't like that, and he don't like his position of authority threatened."

"So finding him is risky for me?" asked Sasha. "Even if I don't give a damn about witch politics?"

"He'll help you," said Cookie. "He won't be able to turn you away. But you best be careful around him, child."

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" muttered Sasha. "Okay, where do I find him? New Orleans?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to go a bit farther than that. He's based out in New York,"

"New York— _shit_. And by New York of course," said Sasha. "You mean Manhattan?"  
"I'm afraid so, baby girl. I'm afraid so," Cookie said grimly.

* * *

It was harder to say goodbye than Sasha could have foreseen. She stood outside of Merlotte's for a long time, watching through one of the windows as all of her new friends, predictably, were gathered inside. Sam was working behind the bar, arguing with Jason, it seemed, over what to play on one of the large monitors overhead. Jesús was annoying the waitresses by standing at the mouth of the kitchen, flirting with Lafayette. Soon it would be sundown, and Jess would breeze in. Hoyt was sitting next to Jason, eagerly checking his watch.

She would miss them and, mostly, the piece of mind they'd given her for some time that she could be normal, that _just maybe_ it didn't matter what the hell she was, that just maybe she could get her own life back on track. She blinked away the emotional tears she could feel coming on. It was useless feeling nostalgic over something she'd never truly had.

Jesús was the first to spot her when she entered. His eyes swept over her once—she thought he might sense more than a little something different about her—and waved her over.

"Hey Sam," called Sasha. "Can we get some beers all around?"  
Sam obliged, and Sasha informed them all that she was very glad to have met them all, but that it was time for her to move on. They were all more upset by this than she had anticipated, but it felt nice to know that she wasn't the only one that had formed an attachment. As much as she said she didn't need it, it appeared that she'd enjoyed human warmth a little more than anticipated.

At one point, Sam took Sasha aside to ask after her welfare. He was the only one that knew that there was more to her story than met the eye—at least, he was the one that knew that the most—and she could see the questions burning at the tip of his tongue.

"Take Eric's money," she said simply.

Sam considered this for a moment. "All right. I don't know what the hell you're up to, Buckley, but I wish you all the best,"

She stayed a few hours, just enough so that she could see Jessica. Jessica took it the hardest of all them that she was leaving. The two girls ended up in the bathroom of Merlotte's, one crying regular tears and the other blood, as Sasha assured her that she was only a phone call away, that yes she'd visit when she could, and that no, Sasha would not be the only friend Jessica ever made.

When Jessica had finally embraced her and wished her luck on the next chapter of her life—Sasha went and spoke to Jason. Jason smiled shyly at her, his brown eyes crinkling above a heavily bruised nose.

"I'm sorry!"

"I owe you an apology!"

They laughed as they realized that they'd both spoken at the same time.

"Uh, me first," said Jason. "Cause I don't know why the hell you think you gotta apologize ta me. I was a dick for kissin' you in that moment—I wasn't listenin' right to what you were sayin', and I was all sorts a messed up—I ain't sayin' that as an excuse or nothing, just tryna tell you where my mind was at—"

"You're forgiven, Jason," she interrupted. "I mean, I definitely was upset that you kissed me, given the circumstances, but I didn't really have to break your nose over it,"

"Nah, deserved it," shrugged Jason. "'Sides, I think that's a lot less than what that vampire wanted to do to me,"

"Eric?"

"Think he wanted to kill me," said Jason. A strange expression crossed his face. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but uh, I think he cares 'bout you. Probably in some weird, twisted, fanger kinda way, but…"

Sasha bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling to widely.

"You know Jason, I'm starting to think so, too."

* * *

That weird, twisted, fanger made himself heard not too long after.

 _It would be my preference if my witch made her way to my apartment, sooner rather than later._

Sasha raised an eyebrow at that. _My preference, my witch, my apartment. Mine. Mine. Mine._ She hadn't even finished texting him back when she received another text from him.

 _And, preferably, on an empty stomach._

Bewildered now, Sasha began to say her goodbyes. She was on an empty stomach, but because it had been too tied up in knots to hold food or beer. She really did have to talk to Eric anyway and, she knew, that would be the most difficult of goodbyes for her. She wasn't even sure what his reaction would be; he'd told her he wouldn't try to stop her when she tried to leave, though she still had to honor their contract, but that had been before…well before a lot had happened.

Jason and Jessica volunteered to drop her off at the motel so that she could collect her car. They said their final goodbyes, and then Sasha drove back to Shreveport.

It felt good to drive. She kept the windows down and breathed in the fresh air. She felt the occasional itch across her skin and realized that her tattoo was moving; it seemed every bit as restless as felt. She prayed it would stay hidden beneath her clothing.

That Eric's front door had been replaced in the mere hours they'd been away was of no surprise to her. This one did seem thicker, and far heavier than the other had been. But what surprised her most of all was Eric when he greeted her at the door.

He was absolutely mouth-watering.

Not that he wasn't ordinarily; it was difficult to think that he could become anymore attractive than he was. But dressed in casual, well, _well_ -fitted navy slacks and a thin black crew-neck sweater, the kind that allowed a small peek of his pale chest beneath…well he was definitely a sight for sore eyes. He greeted her with a simple smile. His hair was neatly combed back and gelled as usual, and between witch and vampire, he was not the one looking like death.

 _Yeah, because you look like you actually just barely managed to get through some catastrophic and possibly life-altering events._

"Damn you," she muttered in a huff, pushing past him. Eric chuckled, shutting the door softly behind her.

"Why does it smell amazing in here?" asked Sasha. She was a little taken aback when Eric's arms slipped around her waist, his nose coming to nuzzle against her neck. She shivered as his lips trailed softly across her skin. Despite the one or two kisses they'd shared and what were, dare she say it, emotionally intimate moments, this sort of familiarity came as a surprise to even her.

"As opposed to…?" he murmured.

With everything that had gone on, she was unprepared to contend with a flirtatious Eric Northman. She didn't think they were in the clear just yet; she certainly wasn't, and she couldn't imagine that King Compton was too pleased with Eric's absence. She still didn't even know the full story of what had gone on there. But Eric didn't seem at all concerned with any of that, seemingly quite focused on his seduction as his teeth teased over her ear.

"What's going on, Eric?"

Eric groaned, turning her to face him. "You ever turn that brain of yours off for a moment? It's one of you tells,"

"Tells?"

"You have a few," he told her. "Sometimes I forget you're not one of my kind. But then your little tells start to show, and I remember,"

"My heartbeat's not enough?" she asked skeptically.

"Not always," he told her.

"We really need to talk, Eric," she told him.

"Why do I have a feeling I wont like this talk? Sasha, you and Pam are both alive and well. Let me celebrate that, and worry about whatever the hell it is that you're going to bring up, _tomorrow_ night,"

His stubbornness made her sigh. She chewed on her lip for a moment, considering his words. If King Compton wasn't breathing down Eric's neck, and she wasn't in immediate shit with the tattoo plastered across her skin…then maybe he was right. Was it so wrong to indulge him for just a few hours? God knew when she'd have the opportunity again. And, if she was leaving for New York…well, she didn't want her last memory of Eric to be the night before.

"Fine," she relented.

"Excellent," said Eric. "If you don't mind, you look like shit. I have clothes laid out for you in the bedroom, and dinner is waiting,"

Sasha wasn't a fan of men picking out what she'd wear. She'd stopped letting others choose her clothes for her at age twelve. She couldn't avoid the stylists that Danica hired entirely, but they'd simply advised on her looks for special events, and she'd learned a lot from them. As she grew older she insisted on choosing her own things, and especially for social outings or the occasional date. She'd dated one guy _extremely_ briefly who had not only tried to pressure her into sex, but had insisted on taking her shopping. What had sounded fun had turned out to be a Beverly Hills Jackass intent on recreating his mother's wardrobe for the girl he was seeing.

Um, no thanks.

But Eric, who seemed to always be the fucking exception in her life to just about anything, had for the second time picked out something she would have picked out for herself. It was a simple cashmere dress that hugged her frame and fluttered out prettily at her hips, and in a beautiful sage green that soothed her. She found a pair of sheer black tights to go along with the outfit but, oddly enough, no shoes.

She slipped into the dress, unsurprised that it fit her like the glove. It was a little short, no doubt intentionally so, but the tights provided a small comfort of modesty.

"Eric, there's no shoes," she told him stepping out of his bedroom.

He gave her a once over. Deeming her satisfactory, he extended a hand. "We're not going far," he promised.

She let him guide her to the living room, where she now saw it had been transformed. The low coffee table had been arranged with a single placemat, a few tea light candles, and a bottle of wine. She nearly jumped when a figure came out of the kitchen.

"Sasha, this is Haru Takahashi. He is, I am told, the finest chef of Japanese cuisine in all of Shreveport,"

"All of _Louisiana_ ," said Chef Takahashi, inclining his head in her direction.

"So that's why you're so damn expensive on such short notice?" Eric asked in amusement. The Chef simply sent a wink Sasha's way and placed a plate on low coffee table.

"This is dinner?" she asked incredulously.

"Well you didn't think _I'd_ be cooking you a meal, did you?"

Sasha grinned wickedly at him, unable to resist teasing him. "True. But then I would have been _really_ impressed. There's no quicker way to get me naked than a man who can cook,"

Eric rolled his eyes. "Minx," he muttered. He took her by surprise when he dropped a quick kiss to her lips, as though it were routine, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

She settled on one of the large cushions on the floor, or really, melted down into it as she tried not to let her brain go from zero to sixty because of what she told herself had to be just an innocent kiss. Eric followed suit, sitting quite close to her as he poured them each a glass of wine. When he leaned back against the chair, his hand fell to her thigh, lazily drawing circles on the skin there. Heat pooled at the skin there, because despite the sheer tights, his touch was enough to send shockwaves through her. It was impossible, thought Sasha, to remain unaffected by Eric.

"I should mention how stunning you look," he told her.

She took a sip of her wine. "What is going on with you? You are laying it on _thick_ tonight,"

"You won't understand unless you become a Maker," said Eric. "It's like…it's like you're equivalent of an adrenaline rush. I get it when I fight—I love a good fight. But the relief at having Pam safe, after I was so sure she… it's rejuvenating, it's given me pause to take a moment and enjoy myself in the moment,"

"Because you usually don't?" asked Sasha.

"Not like this," said Eric. "I'm feeling very…indulgent,"

"Why?" said Sasha, looking away, uncomfortable. She shrugged. "I was just honoring out agreement,"

"Don't do that—don't downplay your actions, especially not _these._ You saved my progeny's life, Sasha. _My progeny_ ; and we both know I expected nothing of you but to sit in this apartment and worry after your life and nothing more. But you risked yourself for her—for me. Do you want something in return? Money?"

"What? No!" she exclaimed in horror. "I didn't do it for that—"

"Exactly," Eric said coolly. "You've repeatedly proven to be selfless—startlingly so. Witch or not…you're an odd, rare creature to come across. Let me enjoy you,"

* * *

Even as a prior fan of sushi, she had been surprised again and again throughout her meal as Eric had her taste different dishes. Chef Takahashi kept to the kitchen, coming out only to bring more food—more food than she thought she could even stomach by the end of the night. But they were small portions of a wide variety, and even things she was familiar with became new and interesting. Eric had talked her into trying things she hadn't before—like fugu.

"You insult our Chef by not trying it," argued Eric as he held the blowfish meat expertly between his chopsticks. Sasha kept her mouth shut tightly, shaking her head at him. She'd always been weary of the fish; though she knew it was a delicacy, the fish was incredibly poisonous and lethal if prepared incorrectly. "And to think you're the same woman that will face a vampire, but you can't eat a piece of fish? I'm disappointed,"

Her eyes narrowed at him. She opened her mouth obediently, and he placed the fish on her tongue. She chewed for a moment, blinking in alarm as her mouth went a little numb and tingly. Realizing this was part of the experience of fugu, she sat back and enjoyed it.

"So?" asked Eric eagerly. "How was it?"

"Like you're going through a lot of trouble just to poison me," she told him.

"Please. Even if there was a chance this dish was incorrectly prepared, a drop of my blood would cure you,"

She chewed and then wiped her mouth, ignoring his comment. "For someone that doesn't eat, you plan pretty good dinners,"

"Oh, I eat," said Eric with a salacious wink. He poured them another glass of wine each, and it didn't escape her notice that when he sat back down his hand returned to her knee as though it belonged there. But it did not wander into inappropriate territory, and a thought occurred to her as she stared at his left hand.

"Were you ever married, Eric?"

"No," said Eric, handing her glass of wine over. "It never appealed to me as a human, and you can imagine my disinterest after I was turned. Even human, the idea of monogamy repulsed me,"

"Guess I'm not completely surprised," said Sasha. "Viking through and through, were you?"

He shrugged. "I was never short on willing partners. And, despite my being a prince, ruling never concerned me much, either. I wasn't the type of man worried about siring an heir, of the fate of my kingdom. I loved to fight, I cared enough to protect what was mine—my family, my people, but…" he trailed off. "I had a great love of the sea. Of exploration, of learning, seeing things I never had before,"

"So you became a vampire," she said, smiling softly.

"So I became a vampire," agreed Eric. Then he looked down, frowning slightly as he gently swirled his wine around in his glass. He brought it up to his mouth, then lowered it again.

"There was a girl, once," he said quietly. His frown deepened. "I don't remember what she looked like, what her name was. I figure it must have happened just before I was turned—those memories are often the first forgotten by a vampire. But I recall considering her as a mate. A wife, I suppose I should say. Even then, it's not so much a memory I remember…more a feeling,"

He took a sip of his wine, meeting her gaze. He shrugged. "Who knows; I might have married her, never become a vampire. I don't worry too much about it. Things happen as they are meant to,"

"I suppose," Sasha said thoughtfully. "I can't imagine you married. I can't picture you human, actually,"

"That's because you've only ever known me as a vampire," he pointed out.

Sasha shook her head, adjusting herself so that she was facing him more, bracing her shoulder again the couch cushions.

"Maybe. But it's just…I don't know,"

"You wouldn't prefer me as a human?" asked Eric. "Just as I am, but human?"

"Then you wouldn't be just as you are," argued Sasha. "I _like_ who you are, high-handed, arrogant, dangerous as you are,"

"That's because you're still romanticizing me," said Eric. "Something I find incredibly contradictory, given the insight you have into my kind,"  
"If I romanticize you, it's your character, not that you're a vampire," said Sasha. "And if I do that, it's your own damn fault,"

"My fault?"

"Yes," said Sasha. "Look at us right now, this whole dinner. You treat me like…like…"  
"…Like you're mine?" prompted Eric, looking a little frustrated with her. "Yes, I treat you far better than I treat most. You've earned a modicum of my respect. You know that. At the end of the night, you and I have a deal. I don't see why that has to be the frustrating, strained deal I once had with Collette. You and I get along; why fight that?"

"I told you I couldn't be yours in the way you wanted," she reminded him.

"You haven't even tried," he said. She paused, watching him carefully for a moment. It looked like their pleasant evening was coming to an end.

"I'm leaving Louisiana," she said quietly. "Tomorrow,"

He seemed to process her words for a moment. Then, "No."

"I'm not asking. I'm telling you," said Sasha. "I have to go,"

He leaned back against the couch impatiently. "Why?"

"Because I burned down Sam's house. And half the warehouse district. Eric, I could have killed someone. I can't have you glamoring the police and the fire department every time I lose control—I can't keep losing control,"

"Agreed," said Eric. "I simply don't see what that has to your sudden desire for relocation,"

"Cookie said she knows of someone that can help me. Another witch of a Fire Affinity. He's not local,"

"A Fire Affinity would be the most logical choice to train you," murmured Eric thoughtfully. "We'll get into contact with him immediately, pay him whatever it costs to have him come teach you,"

"That's not how this works, Eric. I have to go to him and he's—" she paused as she heard bustling in the kitchen, a reminder than they weren't alone. Their Chef came out of the kitchen with another dish, and Eric sighed, rising to his feet and following him back into the kitchen, no doubt to let him off earlier than anticipated.

Sasha took a long, long sip of her wine, then found her way back to Eric's bedroom. She was, for once, going to be straight up with him. Cookie had advised against it, but she would trust him with this.

"I hope you're not thinking about going to bed, Sasha," said Eric, folding his arms across his chest as he came to a stop in the bedroom doorway.

"I need to show you something. Can you um, can you please sit?" she asked. Eric looked like he wanted to argue, but he pushed off the wall, crossing over to the edge of his bed.

Sasha stood before him nervously. Her hands opened and closed at her sides, and she wrung them out.

"This is going to be a bit freaky," she admitted, gripping her hemline in both hands. Then she pulled it up and over her body, letting the fabric fall to the floor.

She stood in front of him in her bra and underwear and sheer tights, the ouroboros tattoo bared.

" _Shit_ ,"

Though in apparent shock, Eric's expression didn't reflect the same horror she'd felt when she'd first laid eyes on the thing. Instead he seemed in awe, and he beckoned her closer with a crook of one long, pale finger. She moved to stand in front of him, between his long legs.

His fingers dragged lightly over her skin, and he let out a small exclamation when the ouroboros reacted to his touch, readjusting itself around her waist as it shivered,

"When…?" he asked, looking up at her.

"I saw it last night," she whispered. "Do you understand why I have to go?"

But Eric's mind had already drifted elsewhere. He leaned forward place a kiss on her stomach, directly over the ouroboros tattoo. She shivered, goose bumps breaking out across her skin at the contrast of her fire and his ice. Eric didn't stop there, placing wet, languorous kisses up her stomach, following the snake tattoo between the valley of her breasts, up to the column of her throat, and then finally to meet her mouth in a hungry kiss.

His hands moved around her waist to her ass, grasping handfuls of bare flesh peeking out from her underwear. Then he pulled her closer, rising and moving her to the bed. She gasped, finding herself pressed into the bed, Eric kissing her with dizzying mastery.

Just as quickly as he'd started he stopped. She blinked up at him, dazed. Eric's expression was unreadable as he leaned to rest on his side, head propped up in his hand. His other hand came to move her hair out of her face. Perhaps he'd sensed she was growing overwhelmed.

"Where is this witch that we can't have them come here?"

"New York," she said when she'd regained her breath. Though she might not have minded changing in front of him, or slipping out of her dress to show him the tattoo, his passionate response made her wish she was a little more covered up now, to put an extra barrier between them. Sensing this, he reached across her to pull the edge of the blanket over her.

"Mainland or Manhattan,"

She bit her lip, watching him sheepishly.

"Of course he is," cursed Eric. "Manhattan is…a grey area. It's certainly not the worst place you could find yourself, but I don't like the idea of you there all the same. You have to understand, Manhattan is—"

"Complicated. Yeah, I'm aware," said Sasha. "But I'm going whether you like it or not. I just thought it seemed fair to tell you before I left in the morning,"

"The morning," Eric said stonily. "You've already made arrangements, then?"

"Yes," said Sasha. "It's not like I have much to pack up. I'm flying out in the morning,"

There was a pause. "You said you wouldn't try to stop me if I wanted to leave. _You_ said that, Eric,"  
"I know," said Eric, and she thought she heard regret in his tone. "And I won't stop you. I just think you're making a mistake."

"Staying here can't lead to anything good," she muttered. She laid her head against the apex of his shoulder and chest. He was so cool through his thin sweater, so solid. She tried to imagine a heartbeat; she shivered at the thought. Human Eric…somehow, that went against everything she believed him to be. She couldn't even really picture him having had a human past. She liked like him like this; solid, something she could rely on during all this madness.

"I just keep thinking…what if I'd hurt someone? Or worse?" she whispered. "I wouldn't ever be able to forgive myself. I've already waited too long. If not for _me_ , I have to get this under control before I do something irreparable."

"I don't disagree," conceded Eric. "But Manhattan isn't anything like California or Louisiana. Not like any territory in the US," warned Eric. "It might be the smallest territory, but don't let that fool you. Her Queen can be…unpredictable. Dangerous, conniving. There's a reason why it's one of the rare corners of the civilized world that the AVL's reach is practically nonexistent to this day,"

"And why it's a haven to people like me. For witches," said Sasha. Eric hummed.

"For what price?" Eric moved so that he could meet her eyes directly. "Are you sure you want to do this? I won't be able to help you like I've helped you until now,"

Sasha glanced down at her bare torso. The sleeping ouroboros had its head directly over her stomach now. "I don't think I have a choice."

"Then I suppose this is where we part ways, Sasha Buckley."

* * *

 ***SCREAMS IN HIGH PITCHED SQUEAL***

 **WELL GODDAYUM. There I go finishing a 200,000+ fic, in under a year, with relatively consistent updates. I'm so proud of myself for sticking with this even when life got in the way or inpsiration threatened to run dry! a MASSIVE thank you to the people that took the time to review and DM me. Your words encouraged me so much to push through with this story! (we're ALMOST AT 200!)**

 **I'll likely post a tease of a prologue for the sequel today, so if you don't have me on Author alerts, look out for that! Rating for the next fic will go up to M, so adjust searches accordingly. And your wigs, cause they are gonna get snatched. Hopefully.**

 **Also thank you for everyone responding with their questions! They've helped me focus how the sequel will play out.**

 **onto reviews:**

 **Liza:** _Never apologize for a long review. The second i see one (after a quick scan to see that it isn't someone saying they hated it lol) i freak out and read on super excitedly! You really did hit the nail on the head with your analysis, especially on the Sasha/Sookie bit. Sasha's nest will definitely be explored a bit more, and with that Jakande. Alcide is...well, gorgeous, yes. When it came down to it, i've always been a fan of vampires over weres. Then Alcide's character comes along and fucked me up lol. Liza, thank you so much for your reviews. You've been there just about form the start, and i appreciate you so much!_

 ** _bubu-chibi-chan:_** _It's okay! the sequel is coming in hot! As for Catherine, it was a bit subtle i guess. The vampire Nathan Chen, working for Bill Compton, was acutally working for Catherine all along. He's the one that freed her; the reason she got caught so quickly was because they planned that. he 'arrested' her, so that they could get Eric out of the way long enough for him not to be a threat when Catherine went after Pam and Sasha. We find out more on Bill in the sequel. When the next story begins, there will only be a days different from the epilogue. A few chapters in there will be a time jump. Thanks for sticking with the story all this time!_

 ** _Nox:_** _I'm glad you like Sasha so much! I really want there to be a balance with her powers but also her humanity. Love all your questions-they'll definitely get addressed in the next book. They will be the foundation for a lot that happens. Thank you so much for the love and support-i'm definitely feeling it!_

 ** _Guest:_** _Never be ashamed to binge books/movies/etc. I'm the queen of that haha. Glad you like my Eric. I don't want him a lovesick puppy either, but i will fight anyone that tries to tell me that he is not an emotional being. He might be a good actor and he's obviously very in-control, but he is crazy intense, and there's about a thousand and 1 pieces of evidence for that. That's what makes him so fun. He's capable of having a heart (despite what he might say to the contrary) but that doesn't stop him from being absolutely ruthless._

 _ **Lucy:** Im excited to dive into the ouroboros... it'll mean a lot of different things. And the Sasha/Eric i have planned for the next book has me so ridiculously excited. Yeah, Sasha's place in this world will definitely have to be carved out a little more before Sookie comes to play. _

_**Guest:** Haha Eric never turned human! He just lost all his memories (if you're talking about season 4. If you're talking about the books, i haven't read them...). Thanks for reading!_

* * *

 _ **Sasha Buckley & Eric Northman will return in the sequel:**_

 _ **Animal Urges**_


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